


Bloodbond

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, tw blood, tw character death, tw injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Prince Roman, for all he strives to be the best, has never been anything but a second thought. The youngest, least important son of King Odin, the last resort as an heir to the throne of the kingdom of Gaepried; if it weren’t for his magic, potent and powerful, he fears he’d be forgotten altogether.But magic always brings trouble, no matter what — and for Prince Roman, trouble comes in the form of a half-translated spell-book, an accidentally summoned demon named Anxiety, and an ancient spell that binds their souls and leaves them trapped in each others company.Only the kingdom’s Royal Mage, the most powerful wizard of all, can reverse the Bloodbond and set their souls free. But the Royal Mage lies on the other side of a realm’s worth of monsters, a dangerous journey, and Roman’s father, King Odin the Demon Slayer. Can they make it before the world tears them apart?Or, more importantly: can they make it before they tear each other apart?(entry for 2018 TS-storytime big bang!! my artists are @pattykrabbies and @vdkstar on tumblr, go check them out!)





	1. Chapter One

_In tenebris illis, qui vivimus vigemusque in dolore!”_

This was it.

_“Qui habitaturi essent in velo inter mundos.”_

Anticipation filled his every word with confidence; his chest swelled and his voice rumbled with overzealous excitement, his fingers tingling with powerful magic. The spell was foreign and unsure in his mouth, but even if he stumbled he refused to fall, refused to give up on what he’d been working so hard to achieve.

_“Latus meum et vocavi te, hoc mundus non grata quo nunc es.”_

He was glowing — illuminated in the light from the runes he’d painted in purple and red across his floor, in the lambent magic swirling around his outstretched hands. Power whirled around him, tousling his hair and his clothes and the pages of the spellbook on the podium before him, and he faltered but did not stop, too  _close_ to give up now.

_This was it._

_“Veniunt ad me: daemonium et ore exíbit gládius… a-acútus vota!”_ He’d stuttered, he’d hesitated, but he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to. The magic swirled before him; a tornado of purple and black, of magic light and dark, of suffocating smoke, growing bigger and bigger with each word he spoke. The light from the symbols was blinding.

But it was working. He may have stumbled but he hadn’t fallen, and now… “I’m going to make you proud,” he whispered, the spell nearly enacted, the magic around his outstretched palms flaring deep violet and vivid scarlet.

He drew his hands close to his chest and breathed the final part of the spell, his body aching with the overuse of his magic, his eyes glowing with power and ambition alike.

_**This was it.** _

_“Ego conjuro te!”_

The magic burst forth from his palms as he thrust his hands forward, colliding with the tornado in the middle of his room with a noise like metal scraping against metal — and the force threw him backwards, his body slamming heavily against the wall, the tornado swelling and exploding and knocking him back down as he desperately scrambled to his feet.

Magic seeped into the room, throughout the air; suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, trapped beneath the weight of a failed spell…

And then everything went dark.

* * *

“Hey!”

Pain. Horrendous, unbearable pain. It bloomed throughout every limb and seeped through every muscle, red-hot and ice-cold and hideously agonizing.

“Wake up and send me _back!”_

He groaned, consciousness returning to him in uncomfortable waves. He tasted blood. Slowly, he moved, merely an inch — and pain exploded within him, a thousand flares of agony, and he stopped, moaning into the wooden floor.

_“Send. Me. Back.”_

He didn’t recognize the voice. In his hazy, half-conscious state, his brain fogged with pain, it almost sounded… inhuman. The accent was strange, unplaceable; the tone double-layered and crackling with fury, angry and deep and almost… demonic…

Suddenly, with a great jolt of fear, he recognized the sting of a magic that wasn’t  _his_  in the air, the soft crackle of power that only one type of being could hold. Breathtakingly cold fear pierced his stomach and sent him shooting to his feet, and he drew his sword and held it aloft towards the demon, his face contorting with pain and anger alike.

He was tall, incredibly so, looming over him like a predator looms over its prey. His face was pale, his eyes deepest black, purple irises glowering down at him from behind a veil of ebony hair. He shifted beneath his tattered dark cloak, the hood drawn up over his head; and beneath it, two leathery black-red wings furled angrily. There was no mistaking it: this was a demon, and it was not welcome.

“Back!” Roman cried, jabbing his sword towards the demon’s throat. “What are you doing here, foul villain? You weren’t summoned!”

“Are you serious?” the demon growled, glaring down at him.  _“You_ summoned me, idiot. Now send me back.”

“What? No, I —” A pause, suddenly, as realization spread paralyzingly into his bone. He glanced at the ancient spell-book he’d been following, tossed across the room in the explosion, and his eyes shifted over the mostly-but-not-entirely translated spell on the singed page. His blood ran cold, his face flickering between disappointment and anger. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to prove his worth. It was supposed to make him  _proud._

“Fine, then. Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of,  _demon.”_

The demon didn’t budge, his eyes narrowing to furious slits.  _“I can’t,”_ he ground out, clawed hands tightening into fists by his sides. “You need to release me first, asshole.”

Roman scoffed angrily as the childish insult, raising an eyebrow. His sword never wavered by the demon’s neck, though Roman’s arm throbbed with pain. The shining, magical blade pressed sharply into the deathly pale skin, nearly drawing blood. “Fine. You’re released. Now return home and never  _grace_  me with your presence again.”

“With  _pleasure,”_  the demon snarled, his eyes slipping shut as he concentrated. A moment passed, silent, but still the demon remained, looking rather foolish as he stood silently in the middle of the room.

“Why are you not leaving?” Roman asked, confusion joining the cocktail of anger and disappointment on his face. The demon shook his head.

“I don’t — I don’t know,” he answered. “I can’t.”

Roman lifted his sword higher, glaring. “You’d better figure it out, demon. As the Royal Prince of Gaepried, I  _order_  you to leave.” He went to take a step forward and nearly crumpled from the pain, his leg wobbling beneath him. He looked down and found his pant-leg torn and bloodied, a deep wound visible from between the tears. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as his leg threatened to give out beneath him.

“No offense, princey, but I don’t think you can do much of  _anything_  to me.” The demon didn’t sound confident so much as resigned; his voice dark and brooding as his eyes slipped shut again, his hands twitching by his sides. But still, he remained trapped — unable to teleport back to his own hellish realm. “Why the hell can’t I leave?”

He shifted, and Roman jabbed his sword as a warning, his face contorted in a hateful snarl — but the demon merely raised an eyebrow and turned, his fingers worrying the hem of his cloak as he began to pace, limping on every other step.

“Stop,” Roman ordered, injecting every ounce of confidence that he didn’t feel into his voice. The demon was right, of course — in this state, he truly wouldn’t be able to do anything. He was too injured to fight physically, and his magic was much too drained to perform even the simplest of charms, let alone fight off a demon. “I order you to —”

Suddenly he was yanked forward, as though some unseen force had tied a rope around his middle and tugged, hard. He stumbled and fell, crying out involuntarily in pain, and the demon froze in his pacing, watching him with confusion written all over his face. “What did you do?” Roman snarled as he pulled himself back to his feet, feeling woozy with pain.

“I didn’t do anything!” the demon protested. He began to pace again, almost seeming nervous, and as he stepped farther away Roman was dragged off his feet again, back towards the demon.

Roman cried out in frustration, yanking himself back to his feet with a grunt and ignoring how his leg throbbed beneath him, ignoring the drops of scarlet scattered across the floor beneath him. “Stop pacing!” he commanded, and the demon paused, turning to glare at Roman.

Roman had a vague idea of what was going on — a memory that lingered in the back of his mind, a story heard as a mere child — though his blood chilled to think of it as a possibility.

Slowly, carefully, he inched backward, sucking air sharply through his teeth as his leg screamed in protest. His was nearly to the wall, ten feet away from the demon, when it happened: the demon was yanked forward, towards Roman, knocked right off his feet. Thus, Roman’s suspicions were confirmed, and he’d never hated being right more.

_No,_  he thought, as the demon grumbled confusedly and got back to his feet.  _This isn’t enough proof._ He needed something more, something to tell him what he thinks isn’t right — and there was only one person in the entire kingdom who’d dare tell the prince he was wrong.

He took a deep breath and gathered his energy, collecting the last vestiges of magic held deep within his bones, and set both hands atop the wound on his leg. There was no way he’d be able to heal it fully in his condition, but… at least he could lessen the pain. When the glow of his healing charm faded, he strode towards the demon, limping only slightly.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, glaring as though this was the demon’s fault — even as his mind reminded him that it was his fault,  _all his fault, now_ he’ll _never be proud of him_  — and the demon glared right back, drawing himself up to his full height.

“No,” he said. “Forgive me,  _your highness,_  but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I don’t believe you have a choice.” Cruel and regal, the threat hung in the air between them for a moment; and their silent standoff came to a halting end when Roman turned and strode out the door. The demon was dragged along, digging his heels into the ground and swearing furiously in some old, demonic language as the unseen force made itself useful and pulled him along behind Roman.

Roman ignored the demon as he swore on some ancient god to curse Roman to hell and back, too caught up in his own thoughts to even give a moment’s attention to the childish monster behind him. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so  _stupid?_  His face grew dark, his hands tightening into fists by his sides.

He’d known the spell was dangerous, of course — but he’d been too caught up in the moment, in the maddening swirl of confidence (and the desperation to prove himself, to impress  _him_ ) to care about the consequences. And  _god,_ were there consequences.

He stole a glance at the consequences begrudgingly stomping along behind him, one eyebrow raised as he studied the beast. In the darkness of the night, with his eyes averted and nervousness written across his face, he seemed almost… human.

Shaking his head, he turned forward again, trepidation dogging his every step as they approached the inn. It was quiet, each window dark save for the warm glow of candlelight in the one upstairs.

Silently, he prepared himself for a lecture. There was no avoiding one, not after the mess he’d gotten into, not after finding himself in such desperate need of his friend’s help. He turned to the demon once they’d made it to the door.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he growled quietly, drawing himself up to his full height and doing his best to look at threateningly regal as possible. The demon rolled his eyes.

“Too late,  _princey,_ I already regret answering your stupid summons in the first place.”

Roman scoffed, rapping twice on the wooden door. Immediately, he was met by the muffled sound of a wolfhound’s barking on the other side, and a soft, comforting chuckle that eased his worries, if only a little bit. “Hello?” Patton asked as he answered the door, Agatha bounding happily around his feet, her loud, excited barking reverberating around the village. “Oh! Roman! What can I do for ya, kiddo?”

“I… require your husband’s assistance.” Roman glanced at the demon behind him, and Patton finally took notice of their darker guest. His eyes widened behind his glasses, a flicker of fear passing through the chocolate brown of his eyes, though he was sure to wash it away with a bright smile quickly afterward.

“S-Sure thing, Ro! Hang on.” He turned and yelled up the stairs, and then leaned down and scratched Agatha behind the ears, leading her back inside. “Well, come on in!”

He waved them into the house, reaching down to hold Agatha’s collar so she wouldn’t slip back through the door, and led them up the stairs and into the sitting room. Agatha bounced behind him energetically, her barking growing happy and excited as they sat, a world of comfortable laps opening up to her.

Roman smiled fondly as he reached down and stroked her soft white head, letting out a sigh as he eyed first Patton and then the demon uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to begin to try to explain, though he had no idea how he’d do so.

It was then that Logan entered the room, carrying a book in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He glanced up, his eyes widened, and he tucked his book beneath one arm to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a small noise of frustration that Roman knew as the precursor to a massive lecture. Roman shrank beneath his disbelieving gaze as Logan seemed to struggle with his words, taking a breath as he eyed the demon up and down. Finally, he raised an eyebrow.

“I told you so.”


	2. Chapter Two

“I  _warned_  you Roman, time and time again, and yet you refused to hear me through that vexatious veil of stupid self-confidence of yours. Casting a spell that you’ve only half translated is  _dangerous_. And now look at the mess you’ve caused!” Logan shook his head angrily as he lectured Logan, his eyes flashing with anger behind his glasses. “And now I suppose you’re going to ask  _me_ to clean this up?”

“No!” Roman protested, jumping to his feet. The sudden movement activated the invisible “rope” between them, and the demon was yanked forward, stumbling away from the wall with a muttered swear. Roman sucked in a deep, annoyed breath. “…yes,” he admitted, after a moment of silence.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, setting his cup down on the table. “Why am I even friends with you?” he asked as he turned and walked back up the stairs, presumably to grab one of his many books.

“… because you love me?” Roman offered, and was met with charged, angry silence. He sighed dramatically, falling back down into his chair and running a hand through his hair. Patton smiled sympathetically, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m sure Lo will think of something! You’ll both be back home in no time.” With that, he turned to the demon lingering in the corner of the sitting room. The demon’s face was dark as he worried the hem of his tattered cloak, glancing between Patton and Roman as though afraid either might attack.

But Patton wasn’t one for attacking. “Hello! I’m Patton, but you can call me Pat. What’s your name?”

There was a moment of awkward silence, thick enough that Roman wouldn’t have been able to cut it with the sharpest of swords. The demon glanced around himself, as though wondering if Patton was even talking to him.

“It’s… I…” He floundered uncertainly, his face scrunched up like he was unused to being treated with kindness. Roman watched the scene play out with one eyebrow raised, glancing between Patton and the demon, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused smile.

“Pat, it’s a  _demon._  You don’t have to be _nice_  to it,” Roman pointed out flippantly. Patton gasped, offended, and fixed Roman with his patented Dad Glare.

“Roman! I’m surprised at you! Everyone deserves kindness.” He held his glare for a moment longer before turning to smile warmly at the demon in the corner, who was looking very conflicted, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. He fidgeted with his hands, lowering his gaze.

“You… uh… you can call me Anxiety,” the demon — Anxiety — said, his tone quiet. Roman scoffed at the unusual name and Anxiety glared, his wings shifting beneath his cloak.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Anxiety. And I’m  _sure_ —” Patton shot another look at Roman. “— that Roman feels the same.  _Right,_ kiddo?”

“Uh. Yes, it’s absolutely  _grand_  to meet you.” He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s… ni — uh, okay meeting you too.” Anxiety paused, regarding Roman with narrowed eyes. “Well, most of you.”

Roman gasped, offended, as Logan walked back into the room, struggling under the weight of a heavy, dusty tome bound in ancient-looking dragon skin. He dropped it on the table with a dramatic flourish that Roman would have been proud of, had he not feared the answer he knew he was about to get.

“This particular kind of magic is incredibly rare,” he began, adjusting his glasses as he sat and flipped open the book. A cloud of dust puffed up as he turned the pages, and Roman rubbed at his nose absentmindedly as he leaned closer. “You’re lucky I was even able to find something on it. It’s especially dangerous as well, lucky for you.”

He landed on a worn page scribbled with runes and met Roman’s eyes. “From what you described, I believe that what you have enacted is… a Bloodbond.”

“A Bloodbond?” Roman wracked his brain, trying to remember if that was the name of the spell in the story he’d heard so long ago. Meanwhile, the demon paled, his eyes going wide.

“It’s… we’re…” He seemed to know what was going on, and judging by the look on his face, Roman had been right all along. His stomach dropped. “Our souls are linked.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” Logan said, regarding the demon with interest. “I assume you were both injured when the spell went out of your control?”

“How do you know it went out of my control?” Roman asked, offended. “You can’t just… assume…” Logan shot him an annoyed look and he caved, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Ugh, fine.  _Yes,_  I was injured, but I healed myself!”

His arm twinged in pain, and he could practically feel Logan eyeing the obvious wound on his leg. He winced, averting his gaze. “…mostly.”

“What about you?” Logan returned his gaze to the demon. “Were you injured enough to bleed?”

Anxiety said nothing, merely shifting his cloak aside to reveal a long cut spanning the length of his forearm, stark red against the pale white of his skin. Roman’s blood ran cold; the demon’s injury was identical to the wound on his own arm. And he had been limping earlier, too, which meant…

“That confirms it.” Logan nodded to himself as red-hot regret seeped, unbidden, into the pit of Roman’s stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, but Patton stood before he could, ignoring Logan’s inquisitive look and approaching the demon. His eyebrows were drawn together in worry, his mouth turned down in a concerned frown.

Anxiety’s eyes widened and he took quick steps backward, yanking his injured arm back beneath his cloak and baring his teeth in a cornered snarl.

“Show me your arm, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise! Obviously Roman —” He paused to shoot another Dad Look at Roman, who was feeling quite attacked on all fronts. “— wasn’t planning on healing you, and I might not be a mage, but I know a thing or two about healing!”

“But —” Anxiety, for his part, seemed just as shocked as the rest of them at Patton’s kind boldness. There was a moment of charged silence — an argument between eyes; soft and gentle browns chipping away at the guarded uncertainty hidden in the deep purples — and then slowly, stiffly, the demon held out his bleeding arm.

Roman felt the pain in his own arm disappear as Patton quickly finished the healing charm, plopping back down on the couch with a satisfied sigh. “That better, kiddo?” he asked, and the demon nodded stiffly, his face carefully blank. “Good! Okay, honey-bee, you can continue,” he said to Logan.

“Ah. Right. Um…” Logan blinked, glancing at Patton and then at Anxiety as he composed himself. “The explosion of magic brought on by your inability to complete such a half-assed spell —”

“Hey!”

“ — must have injured you both. Thus, your blood was mixed within the spell. Upon summoning… Anxiety… your souls were linked because of this. That is why you cannot walk away from each other without being tugged back together, and why Anxiety cannot return to his home realm. As of now, you are soulmates.”

“How the hell do we fix it?” Anxiety asked, his eyes narrowed as he shot Roman a scathing look that the prince was only too happy to return. “I don’t want to spend any more time around this idiot.”

“Well good, because I would rather die than have to spend any more time around you!”

_“That can be arranged.”_

_“Are you threatening me?”_

Logan slammed the book shut with a deafening bang, sending dust flying and stopping the argument in its tracks. “ _We_  cannot fix anything,” he said, glaring at both of them in turn, like an angry mother would glare at bickering children. “This kind of magic is nearly impossible to reverse without the correct resources. And, of course, the correct abilities, which I believe you’ve already proved you possess none of.”

“How dare you?” Roman gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as Anxiety snickered. Logan readjusted his glasses and continued, ignoring Roman’s Offended Prince Noises.

“In fact, the only person that I know of who might be able to undo this calamity is the Royal Mage, and, if I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure he’d even know how. This magic is incredibly ancient.”

“But  _you_  know about it!” Roman said, his stomach churning with regret, his hands clenching into fists. “Couldn’t you undo it?”

“Roman, I am not a mage. I am simply a bookworm.” He got to his feet and hefted the heavy book back into his arms with a grunt. “Oh, and when you get to the capital city, would you mind collecting my notebooks from my old room?”

And that was when it hit Roman like a ton of bricks. He had to go to the capital. He swallowed, hard, trying to hide how his hands began to shake. If his mistakes were kept confined to this small village, known only to those he trusted, then it would have been fine — but to travel to the capital city would be to reveal his stupidity to his kingdom.

It would be to reveal his stupidity to his _father._

“I… yes, I suppose I can do that.” He took a breath; he would not show this weakness in front of the demon. But the demon seemed to be in the same boat; his breathing was quick, his hands shaking beneath his cloak, his wings shifting nervously. It was then that Roman realized: they were fearing the same thing.

King Odin, his father.

King Odin, the _demon-slayer._

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. No. It wasn’t the same.  _They_ weren’t the same. “Who knows?” he began, pushing his uncertainty down and shooting a glare at the demon. “Maybe he’ll  _die_  on the way there and I just won’t have to deal with it anymore!”

Anxiety snarled, his face darkening. “Trust me, your highness, if anyone dies on this little trip, it won’t be me.”

“Actually, you’re both wrong,” Logan said, pausing on his way up the stairs. “There is… one more aspect to a Bloodbond, a particularly dangerous trait. If one of you dies… so does the other. Your souls are linked, after all. So if anyone dies on your ‘little trip,’ you’ll both end up dead. You need to be careful.”

Patton gasped and the demon growled and Roman breathed deeply, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in his heart.  _Princes don’t get scared,_  he told himself silently. _Princes don’t get scared._

“Great.  _Wonderful._  Aren’t you glad you’re such a screw-up, princey?” Anxiety said angrily, nose twitching in rage and worry. Roman glared back, a thousand angry retorts dying on his tongue.

_The demon was right._

“Now, now, c’mon. No fighting.” Patton got to his feet and Agatha jumped to attention, barking once happily as she curled around his legs. Roman and Anxiety glared but stayed silent, and Patton smiled, nodding. “Now, you’re both staying here tonight, okay? And I don’t want any arguments from either of you. I… I don’t trust you enough to leave you alone together.”

“That hurts, Pat,” Roman said, only half-joking. Anxiety remained silent, glaring at the ground. Patton shrugged, absentmindedly running his hand along Agatha’s soft fur.

“I hope you both like stew!” he said by way of farewell, offering them both one last smile before retreating to the inn’s kitchen, Agatha on his heels. Logan nodded sharply to each of them in turn before retreating up the stairs, heavy book in hand.

Roman regarded the demon, his heart pounding an angry mantra of unbidden regret.

_Your fault your fault your fault —_

“I… suppose…” He stopped, took a breath, and the words got stuck in his throat and refused to budge. He cleared his throat, glaring at the floor. “I suppose I… should… _ugh!_  Alright, it was not very… prince-like… of me to get you caught up in all of this. So, I… I apologize for any inconvenience I may have brought.”

There! He’d said it. At least now he could rest easy, his conscience appeased. Patton would be proud of him.

Anxiety raised an eyebrow, looking him up-and-down. “Save it, princey. Don’t like just to appease your stupid human ‘conscience’ or whatever.” He turned towards the window and ignored Roman’s half-hearted attempts at denial. Roman let out a long, angry sigh, glaring at the demon’s turned back.

This was going to be a very long trip.


	3. Chapter Three

Roman hardly slept that night. **  
**

They set out early the next morning, just as the golden sun had begun to spill aureate light across the kingdom; after an emotional goodbye from Patton and a simple one from Logan — “don’t die,” he’d said, and Roman knew that was Logan-Speak for “I care about you, please don’t get hurt.”

Neither spoke as their horses carried them through the village and out into the wilderness beyond. What could Roman say? It was quite obvious that the demon wasn’t much for conversation. Instead, he busied himself with his own thoughts; or, rather, the dread permeating his mind, the constant mantra singing along to the beating of the horse’s hooves.

_You messed up you messed up you messed up._

It wasn’t long before the forest of Panace loomed before them, thick with impossibly tall trees and dark with the shadows from their impossibly thick leaves. Roman knew the stories, knew what lurked within the forest’s shadowy depths — all manner of hideous creatures, dragon-witches and mischievous fae and too many others to name — but…

The path around the forest stretched for  _miles_  off course, through other towns and villages that Roman couldn’t afford to be seen in, not with a demon by his side. But the forest itself… it led straight through to the capital city, straight through to  _freedom._  Who was he to get scared of a few dragon-witches anyway? He was the prince. He was afraid of  _nothing._

“Come along, Tall Dark and Deadly,” Roman said, confidently leading his horse towards the border of the forest.

“What, we’re going in there?” Anxiety glanced from the forest to Roman and back again, sneering. “I knew you were stupid, but this is just ridiculous.”

“It  _happens_  to be a shortcut, Anxiety.”

“It  _happens_  to be stupid, princey.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “If you’d like to take a five-day detour around Panace, go ahead. Have fun with that. Oh, wait, actually —” He urged his horse forward, just far enough… and Anxiety was yanked from his saddle with a frustrated yelp, landing in a heap among the swaying grass below. “You  _can’t._  As the prince, I’m in charge, and I say we go through the forest!”

“As the voice of reason, I say it’s a stupid idea. Do you have any idea what could be in there? We could be killed!”

“No offense, scaredy-cat, but I think I’m more than capable of handling anything that comes our way. Now then! Off we go!” He barely gave Anxiety time to scramble back onto his horse before he set off into the forest, confident in his ability to guide them through the maze of trees. He’d been through many a dark, unsettling forest in his day; this would be no different. After all, what was danger to a  _prince?_

And that line of thought was exactly how they got completely, hopelessly lost.

 _“Wow_ , it’s not like I  _said_  this would happen!” Anxiety snarled as they passed the same fungus-covered fallen tree for the fifth time. His face was illuminated with flickering orange-yellow light from the fire Roman had summoned to light their path, his narrowed eyes glinting with fury. “Great job, your highness. You screwed up again!”

“You know, I liked you a lot better when you  _didn’t_  know I couldn’t kill you.” Roman pulled on the reigns and his horse slowed to a stop. He ran a hand through his hair as he climbed down, surveying their shadow-filled surroundings. “It’s too dark to continue. We’ll set up camp here and find a way out in the morning.”

“Oh, you have  _got_  to be kidding,” Anxiety muttered angrily. “Some prince you are.”

“I heard that,” Roman retorted, gathering fallen branches from the ground around them and dumping them into a pile in the center of their clearing. He snapped his fingers and murmured a quiet incantation, and the flame in his hands jumped to the tiny pile, washing their campsite with warm light. He leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree and let the warmth of the fire spread over him, letting out a soft breath.

“I meant for you to hear it, idiot.” Anxiety sat across from him, hunched in on himself as he watched the dancing fire, his face dark. “This is your fault. You should have listened to me.”

“Well, maybe I would have listened if you weren’t such an insufferable asshole all the time. But you are, and here we are. Honestly, if you think about it, this is your fault!” He grinned cheekily at the demon, only half-joking.

“Are you serious?” Anxiety got back to his feet and Roman did the same; they glared at each other scathingly from across the fire, and Roman felt his magic flare defensively. “Don’t spin some  _bullshit_  story about how you’re only being an ass in self-defense.  _‘Ooh, Pat, it’s a demon, you don’t have to be nice to it,’”_  he quoted, his voice a high-pitched, pretentious mockery of Roman’s.

“Well excuse me! Your kind have  _only_  killed thousands of humans! But oh, I should have been  _nicer!_  Forgive me!” His words echoed through the forest, thick with loathing, and Anxiety’s glare grew murderous, his hands tightening into fists by his sides.

“You father alone has killed hundreds of demons, your highness.” His tone was cold, freezing ice; his magic flared furiously around him. “It’s not all black and white. So why don’t you climb down from your high horse, realize that the world doesn’t revolve around you, and  _fuck off!”_

His magic flared brighter than the fire, a halo of blinding purple against the darkness of the forest behind him, and his voice grew deep and double-layered and furious, his words echoing around them — and their two horses reared and broke free of their leads, whinnying in fear as they galloped off into the forest. The sound of their hooves pounding fearfully against the ground faded into the distance, and silence fell over the two.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Roman cried, freezing panic seeping into his stomach. Anxiety glared furiously, taking a quick breath to calm his magic.

“Me? You’re the one who started it!”

“How  _dare_  you blame me? You’re the one who went off the deep end and scared our only transportation away!” He took a step back and began to pace, careful to stay within the confines of their Bloodbond. “I hope you’re happy, demon. This ‘little trip’ just became a ten-day journey!”

“It’s not my fault we got lost, is it, princey?” The demon sat, letting out a long, shaking whoosh of a breath. Roman cried out in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air and turning to stalk off into the forest, his chest burning with rage. Anxiety reached over and wrapped his arms around the trunk of the nearest tree, and Roman was yanked back the moment he made it outside of ten feet, falling face first into the ground as his legs were tugged out from under him.

“I  _loathe_ you,” Roman growled, conjuring a pillow and lying down on the uncomfortable ground. He turned pointedly away from the demon, huffing.

“Goodnight,” Anxiety said mockingly, his voice dark. “Let’s hope bugs don’t crawl into your ears while you sleep!”

Roman ignored him.

* * *

 

Roman woke to a splattering of soft sunlight across his face, little rays of ethereal light peeking through the gaps in the leaves high above him. He yawned and stretched and enjoyed the feeling of sunlight across his body, for a moment forgetting the events of the days before, for a moment believing he’d simply fallen asleep to the song of the stars in his backyard. But then Anxiety groaned as he stirred, muttering quiet curses at the sunlight in his eyes, and the comfortable illusion was shattered.

Dread weighed heavily in his stomach. He got to his feet and let out a soft sigh of disappointment, his eyes landing on the snapped leads, the hoofprints leading back the way they’d come. “Come on, demon. Up and at ‘em.” He nudged his boot against Anxiety before setting to work packing up what little supplies they had left, stopping the dying remains of the fire with a snap of his fingers.

Anxiety groaned and complained but got up anyway, shooting a scathing glare Roman’s way as they set off into the forest.

Neither spoke. It seemed each was caught in their own mind, in their own anger, refusing to speak out of spite or hatred, refusing to acknowledge the other even existed. Roman was perfectly happy with ignoring the demon; after all, who wanted to speak to such a horrible creature? The peaceful silence was enjoyable, only occasionally pierced by a bird’s cheerful song or a woodland creature hopping underfoot, and the forest air floated past, carrying the scent of flowers and earth.

The day drew on; morning melted slowly into a golden afternoon and still they remained in the forest, hopelessly lost among the trees. Frustration was beginning to buzz within Roman despite his best efforts, and he almost began to wish he’d listened to the demon and taken the path around. He longed for a change of scenery, something other than the endless parade of trees around them.

He glanced at the demon walking beside him, arms crossed tightly and gaze averted to his shoes, his expression hidden behind his curtain of dark hair. Maybe a conversation wouldn’t be so bad? It would be a break from the monotony, at least.

“So —”

“What is that?”

Anxiety had stopped, staring ahead with one eyebrow raised, ignoring Roman’s attempt at conversation. Roman followed his gaze, and a grin found its way onto his face as he regarded the cave before them. Its mouth glowed with little orbs of purple magic, casting soft, fuzzy light across the ground, and Roman could feel the buzz of powerful magic from deeper within. Curiosity tickled in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Anxiety asked as Roman approached the cave, suspicion lacing his words. “Don’t go near there.”

“Oh, sod off, demon.” He stepped even closer, merely to spite the demon, peering interestedly into the depths of the cave. He caught a hint of smoke in the air, and the tangy scent of spices and herbs. He raised an eyebrow. Potion materials, maybe?

“A witch…?” he wondered aloud. He stepped even closer, setting his hands on his hips.

“Holy _shit —”_  the sudden cry from behind made him whirl around, and his blood ran cold, a gasp escaping from his lips. Standing before him was a hulking…

 _“Dragon_  witch, darling. I’m nothing like those foolish human witches of yours.” Her tail was wrapped tightly around Anxiety; he struggled against it, fighting to breathe as she wrapped tighter and tighter. Her scales glinted green and blue and red and pink in the sunlight, a dizzying array of colors, and her emerald eyes gleamed maliciously.

Roman summoned a ball of flame and the dragon-witch narrowed her eyes, letting out a smoky huff. “Ugh.  _Mages_. No matter, I have what a need.”

She lifted Anxiety up to her face, grinning widely, showing off row upon row of hideously sharp teeth. He struggled desperately but it ultimately did no good; she was much too strong, even for him. He didn’t stand a chance.

“Demon blood is very valuable, darling.”

Horrible pain exploded through Roman’s body as he was knocked aside with one ginormous claw; he would have landed a good twenty feet away if it weren’t for the Bloodbond’s pull, dragging him along the forest floor behind the beast as she disappeared into the depths of her cave. He gasped for breath but his lungs refused to cooperate.

“Let me go! Stop!  _Ah —”_  Anxiety screamed and fought and struggled, his face contorted in pain as the dragon-witch squeezed even tighter to shut him up. Roman managed to get back to his feet and ran to stay within the confines of the Bloodbond, hissing swears under his breath as he was forced to follow the dragon-witch — and the demon — into the cave.

 _“Adiuro te,”_  the dragon whispered, her voice akin to the crackling of a dying fire. Her magic swirled at the whispered spell, illuminating the cave in bright shades of green and red. She loosened her grip around Anxiety and he plummeted, caught by the twisting tendrils of magic just before he hit the ground. He hissed in pain as the magic squeezed, tighter and tighter.

“Don’t struggle, darling.” The dragon-witch stepped further into her lair — a massive room decorated with lavish, colorful furniture and hoards of old spellbooks, the air thick with the scent of aging herbs and bubbling potions. “They’ll only get tighter if you do. Don’t worry, I won’t draw this out any longer than I have to! You’ll be dead before you even have the chance to feel any pain.”

Roman’s breathing quickened, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene from behind the rock he’d braced himself against. The Bloodbond’s tug was nearly unbearable as it tried to yank him towards Anxiety, growing stronger as the dragon-witch’s magic pulled the demon further into the room. The rock he’d leaned against was the only thing keeping it from pulling him right out into the open, from sending him hurtling towards certain death.

Well, what was certain death to a prince, anyway? He’d faced dragons, he’d faced witches, he could  _certainly_  face a stupid dragon-witch and live to tell the tale. Even… even if they were notorious for being powerful. Even if thousands had met their doom facing them.

_Even if he was scared._

_No._  He shook his head forcefully, his face darkening. It was simply the pull of the Bloodbond causing that shaky feeling in his stomach, the force of the foreign magic in the air making his chest ache and his mind swirl. He wasn’t scared.

_Princes don’t get scared._

The witch dragged a cauldron from beneath her table; it was taller than Roman and nearly twice as wide, the ancient runes painted across the side glittering with their own malevolent light. She leaned down and breathed gently on the wood beneath the cauldron, setting a massive flame ablaze and washing the room in warmth and flickering light.

“Oh, hold still,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as Anxiety yelled curses in some ancient tongue, his voice furiously desperate. Her tail swished absentmindedly as she searched her shelves, her long claws clicking loudly against bottles and jars of magical ingredients. “As soon as I find some accotomile, I will end your suffering. Don’t worry.”

Roman’s breath hitched in his throat. His magic was still drained from last night’s mistake, his power too weak to even consider rushing in and facing her alone. The Bloodbond would surely tug him out into the open the moment he stopped bracing himself against the rock, so sneaking was out of the question as well. He bit his lip, trying desperately to think up a solution.

Was this really how the great Prince Roman would go out? Not like a star, dying fabulously, beautifully, his death a reflection of his life; but rather quietly, unnoticeably, the forgotten side-effect of  _someone else’s_ death?

“Unless…” The dragon-witch paused in her search, annoyance heavy in her tone.  _“Unless_  I forgot to harvest accotomile last time I went out. Wonderful.” She sighed, giving her ingredients one last once-over before turning to the demon suspended in the air. “I’ll be back, darling. And don’t even think about trying to escape, unless you want my bonds to squeeze the life out of you before I get the chance to.”

She huffed in his face, blowing his hair back in a puff of dark smoke, and a snap of her long claws sent the spell tumbling, leaving Anxiety hanging upside down. Roman shrank back against the rock as she stomped past, muttering angrily to herself as she disappeared back through the mouth of the cave. He shifted a bit to the side, and the Bloodbond tugged him into the room, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling across the dragon-witch’s floor.

“Oh. great. Prince  _Failure_  is here to rescue me.” Anxiety gave him a scathing look, his face turning bright red as the blood began to rush to his head. “Trying to make up for the fact that this is all your fault?”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” Roman spat, regaining his balance and getting to his feet. He murmured to himself and his sword appeared in his hands in a flurry of scarlet magic.  _“Novis,”_  he whispered, and the blade began to shimmer with a soft red reversal spell.

He raised his shining sword and Anxiety flinched, his face quickly growing as red as Roman’s cape. Roman sliced through the bonds with ease and the magic spluttered and died, sending Anxiety tumbling headfirst to the floor.

“So what was that about me being a failure, ye of little faith?” Roman smirked as Anxiety got to his feet, squeezing his eyes shut and swaying as the blood rushed out of his head. He growled and opened his mouth to retort — only to be cut off by the distant sound of heavy footsteps and a crackling-fire voice, growing closer by the second.

“We have to get out of here. Now.” Anxiety grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the mouth of the cave, his eyes narrowed as though to hide the flickers of fear passing through them — but the dragon-witch appeared in the doorway and he dove to the side, dragging them both behind her massive chair.

“I’m back, darling!” she greeted through a mouthful of tall, bright-green herbs. She froze in the doorway, her tail beginning to swish angrily, and she tore the herbs from her mouth as she searched the room, a furious growl building in her throat. It grew to a roar and Anxiety tensed, his hold tightening on Roman’s arm as he seemed to struggle to breathe.

“How the hell did you escape?” The demon’s hand began to shake  _(and Roman didn’t consider comforting him, no, what would his father think of him them)_  as the dragon-witch’s angry yell reverberated around the cave. He forced himself to yank his arm away, bracing against the back of the chair as the dragon stomped through her lair. How long would it be before she found them?

“We’ll have to fight her off,” Roman whispered, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. Anxiety’s eyes widened.

“I knew you were stupid,” he hissed, “but this is just ridiculous.”

“Do you have a better idea, demon? If we try to escape, she’ll spot us. She’ll kill us. This is our only option.” He glared at the demon angrily. “I can handle her, don’t worry. You won’t have to get your  _cowardly_  hands dirty.”

Anxiety sneered, and the air around them began to crackle with the power of his magic. “It’s not cowardly, it’s common sense. Something you seem to severely lack.” His tone was laced with venom, his face growing dark. “We can’t beat her head-on. Her magic is too powerful. It’s —” He stopped, realization dawning on his face. “

“What? What is it?” Roman hissed as Anxiety peeked around the corner of the couch, his eyes narrowed with the beginnings of an idea. The dragon-witch was searching near her cabinets; it wouldn’t be long before she found and killed them both. _“Anxiety!”_

Anxiety glanced at him. His face was paler than usual, and he seemed to fight a battle with himself, biting his lips as he thought. “I-I have an idea,” he said finally, glancing back and forth between Roman and the dragon. “I can drain her magic, but I need time. You’ve gotta distract her. Use your stupid flashy prince magic or something.”

“Wh — distract her?” He put his hand to his chest, offended. “I am not some distraction! I am the main event! And —”

 _“Roman!”_  Roman stopped mid-dramatic-monologue, just in time to notice that the dragon-witch had turned their way, peering suspiciously at their hiding spot. Fear shot down his spine.

“Fine,” he hissed, gathering every bit of magic he could muster. He watched as Anxiety took a breath and crawled away, and then got to his feet, forcing confidence to shoot through the fear in his lungs.  _“Showtime,”_  he whispered, and a moment later his magic burst forth, a mad explosion of swirling golds and scarlets that sent dazzling lights dancing across the walls of the cave. It was a simple pyrotechnic spell, but the dragon-witch stumbled nonetheless, blinded by the dizzying array of light.

“Wh —  _you?”_  She caught her bearings and scowled down at Roman in shock, her reptilian eyes flashing furiously.

“Me!” Roman grinned, and with a snap of his fingers, the dazzling lights shot forward. They slammed into the dragon-witch and she fell back against the wall of her cave with a deafening roar of pain, sparks of magic ricocheting off her scales.

He caught Anxiety’s eyes and watched for a moment as the demon carved a strange rune into the floor, his eyes glowing bright white. The dragon-witch reared her head and, with a mighty roar, a blast of white-hot fire burst from her mouth.

Roman dove to the side, hissing in pain when the flames brushed against his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Anxiety glaring, clutching his own arm; and then he was dodging again, throwing up a shield of shimmering scarlet magic.

“Why are you attacking me?” the dragon-witch bellowed, nearly knocking Roman off his feet when she slammed her huge claw into the ground before him. “I did nothing to you!”

Roman leaped out of the way of her swiping claw and tried, desperately, to gather what little magic he had left. Panting, he flung his arms wide, and a chain of explosions sent the dragon-witch lurching backward, a rageful cry escaping her lips.

Anxiety was in the center of the room now, just behind the dragon-witch; his pale skin glowed with lines of brilliant violet and his mouth moved quickly as he murmured the spell under his breath. Roman hesitated, his gaze trapped in the way Anxiety’s eyes shimmered with magic, in the intensity of his glare as he painted the rune — and the dragon-witch struck powerfully, her claw sending him tumbling across the room with a pained cry. He raised a shield with the last of his magic just before his body slammed into the cave wall, and then slumped to the floor, his consciousness wavering in and out.

_“Shit!”_

The Bloodbond had tugged Anxiety right off his feet and right in front of the dragon-witch, and he yelped as he stumbled and fell, his magic flaring in terror as he met the dragon-witch’s eyes.

“Well, well, well…” the dragon-witch simpered, giving Roman one last apathetic glance before curling her neck to regard Anxiety. She grinned wickedly as he paled, the magic in his eyes sputtering and dying. “A group effort, huh? The demon and the prince, how  _scandalous.”_

Roman’s mind screamed at him to move as Anxiety backpedaled.  _Get up, stop being such a failure, you’re going to die!_  But it was no use; his magic was gone, nearly entirely drained, and his limbs felt as though someone had pumped them full of ash. He could barely see through the dark spots erupting before his vision, barely breathe through the agony exploding in his chest.

The dragon-witch stalked forward and Anxiety scrambled back, her impossibly sharp teeth glimmering in the fading purple light left over from Anxiety’s failed spell. “And here I thought you were just a valuable potions ingredient! Imagine the riches I’ll receive, holding the great Prince Roman and his precious demon over good old Odin’s head!”

“N…  _no…”_  Roman could barely speak. He watched through the spots dancing across his vision as Anxiety got to his feet and stumbled backward, his pallor nearly cadaverous in the purple light. But suddenly, as the dragon-witch took another step forward and her claw landed on one of his runes, the fear drained from Anxiety’s face, replaced by something cunning and victorious, and he snapped his fingers sharply, his cloak billowing around him as the five runes he’d painted burst into deep purple flames.

“Not today,  _darling,”_  he spat. He threw his arms wide and the light from the runes became searing, blinding, surrounding the dragon-witch in walls of impenetrable magic.  _“Magica: meterascet a te! Captarent!”_

The runes’ light faded and the cave grew dark, Anxiety’s spell hanging heavily in the air. The dragon-witch smirked, opening her mouth to speak — and then gasped, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Anxiety’s eyes burst into brilliant amethyst flames.

_“Sorbere!”_

A blinding blast of light, an agonizingly loud sound; the dragon-witch cried out shrilly as the runes burst into flames once more, and Anxiety stumbled backward, kneeling down next to Roman. The dragon-witch screamed in anguish, the light enveloping her; and her scream faded with the light of the runes. She collapsed in a heap on the cave floor, her eyes fluttering shut and her magic fading from the air.

“Well, that was fun.” Anxiety stood and winced, the leftover magic from his spell buzzing through the air and pressing down on Roman’s chest. The demon gently brushed his hand across his own chest, looking down to find scarlet bloomed across his shirt, and he hesitated. “Shit, you’re — you’re injured?”

“No shit,” Roman responded, his voice weak and exhausted. Anxiety leaned down and looped his arms through Roman’s, heaving a heavy sigh as he yanked him to his feet, his own face pale with pain. He laced their fingers together and closed his eyes, the room growing silent as his magic flowered through his fingertips and into Roman. After such an impressive display of magic, Roman couldn’t help but be awed by the ease with which the demon performed another spell.

_Awed. Not jealous. Awed._

“You’re welcome,” the demon snapped after the spell had ended and a moment of silence had passed. Awkwardly, Roman pulled his hands from Anxiety’s, flexing his fingers at the unfamiliar tingle of foreign magic passing through them.

“What kind of spell was that?” Roman replied, purposefully ignoring the way Anxiety rolled his eyes, muttering angrily under his breath. Roman reached up to fix his mussed hair as he stepped towards the dragon-witch’s body and then set his hands on his hips, regarding the damage. The magic beneath her scales had faded, leaving their shine dulled and their color paled and lackluster. The rune beneath her had burned into the floor, a mess of pitch-dark ash.

“What, you don’t know? I thought you were training to be a mage.” At Roman’s insulted glare, Anxiety sighed, crossing his arms. “It’s an entrapment spell. It drained her magic. It’s uh… it’s pretty advanced stuff, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes held none of the pride he should have been feeling at such a powerful accomplishment.

Roman raised an eyebrow.  _“I’ll_  say,” he said with a small laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you, demon. You’re more powerful than you look.”

The praise felt foreign in his mouth, and complimenting a demon left an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach — but a feat that powerful deserved to be acknowledged.

“What… ever…” Anxiety averted his gaze and bit his lip, his face flushing. “We… we should go. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

Roman gave the dragon-witch one last glance — and he  _definitely_  didn’t stick his tongue out at her,  _no,_  that would be  _childish_  — and the two set off, back into the forest.


	4. Chapter Four

“I can’t believe you got us lost  _again!”_

“We’re not lost!”

“Really? Then  _where are we,_  princey?”

Roman heaved a heavy sigh, the ball of flame in his hands wavering nervously as guilt ate away at his stomach. The warmth of the afternoon had quickly melted into the cold darkness of nightfall, and the endless trees of the forest of Panace had melted into something different, something  _much_ worse. It was a place of nightmares, a place Roman had only heard about in hushed stories and terrified whispers, in reports of knights who had gone in and never returned.

_And it’s your fault, your fault, you got lost and now you’ll both die —_

He shook his head, dislodging the errant thoughts fluttering around in his head. His flame cast flickering light across the world around them — across the squishy, muddy ground, across the pockets of bubbling water scattered throughout the dirt, across the tall, thin trees with branches like skeleton hands. There was no mistaking where they were.

“It’s…” Roman hesitated, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “It’s the swamp of Demibi, Anxiety.”

“Holy shit,” Anxiety hissed, stopping in his tracks. “Holy shit, you’re — are you actually  _trying_  to get us killed?” His voice grew higher, a tremor of fear hidden beneath the fury of his tone. Roman rolled his eyes, his fire flaring in annoyance.

“Oh, bravo, _demon._  You’ve uncovered my true plan. I brought us here on  _purpose.”_  His words dripped with sarcasm, and he didn’t miss the way Anxiety’s face darkened in response, his ebony eyes flashing with anger. “It’s not my fault, okay? It’s too dark to properly see where we’re going.”

“We’re going to die,” Anxiety said flatly in response. “I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die! Inadvertently killed by a stupid prince who couldn’t find his way out of a stupid forest!”

“Oh, stop being a drama queen, would you? That’s my job.” Roman set one hand on his hip and held out his fire, surveying the clearing they’d stopped in. “We’ll stop here for the night. I’ll be able to find my way out in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea! Take a fucking nap in the middle of a monster-infested swamp! You wow me with your intelligence, your highness.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Anxiety,” Roman said, pushing down the bitter anger that sparked to life at the demon’s words. He’d had enough arguing for one day. “We cannot continue in this darkness. I’m more than capable of handling any monsters that might try to kill us —”

“ — as evidenced by your  _amazing_  victory of the dragon-witch earlier —

“— so we’re going to be just fine,” Roman continued, ignoring Anxiety’s interruption. He sat, and leaned against the nearest tree. A quick incantation later, a blanket appeared in his hands, and he wrapped it around his shoulders. “I’ll take first watch,” he offered, and then hesitated.

“Here,” he said, summoning another blanket. He didn’t meet Anxiety’s eyes as he offered it. Anxiety stared, something indiscernible hidden in the darkness of his eyes. Tentatively, he reached out and took the blanket, searching Roman’s face for a moment before curling up on the muddy ground.

Roman studied him, his eyebrows furrowing at the confusing thoughts warring in his head. Sleep chased his every breath, and soon became too much, though he tried to stay awake, and his exhaustion carried him into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

_“So come and share the night with me~”_

Roman stirred, letting out a soft groan as the strange voice roused him from his accidental slumber.

_“I’ll steal your worries, and set you free~”_

The voice floated through the air, a special kind of magic all its own. The song seemed to fill Roman’s head and carry his thoughts away, and he let out a sigh of relief, a small, contented smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Where was it coming from? He  _had_  to know. The voice was gentle, comforting, beautiful, and it seemed to lull Roman into something deeper than sleep, something wonderful and relaxing. He wanted more. He  _needed_  more.

He got to his feet, his blanket sliding down onto the muddy ground, and stepped over the demon’s sleeping body. He had to know where the song was coming from. He couldn’t live another moment without knowing who in his realm had such a breathtaking voice. The song beckoned him forward and the world seemed to fade away.

_“I’ll drive away your sadness, I’ll make you **happy~”**_

The lake was such a beautiful sight, hidden among the darkness of the swamp; it shone with the brightness of a thousand moons and glittered as though it were full of stars, cloaked in a blanket of ethereal fog. But more beautiful was the man sitting beside it, weaving his voice and the sound of his guitar into an enchanted harmony that seemed to sink deeply into Roman’s soul.

His hair was waves of deep chocolate, his eyes melted gold; he caught Roman’s gaze and offered him a welcoming, loving smile, and Roman felt something deep in his chest break open as he took awestruck steps towards him. Warmth blurred his vision and traced gently down his cheeks as the final notes of the man’s songs drew a sob from within him.

He staggered forward, right into the man’s waiting embrace, and cried. “It’s alright now,” the man whispered, coaxing gentle fingers through Roman’s hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

And Roman, as he sobbed into the man’s chest,  _believed_  him.

* * *

 

Something beneath him was moving.

Anxiety’s eyes fluttered open, his quiet groan of confusion lost to the sea of music swelling around him. He tried to stand and something tugged him off his feet, sending him stumbling back to the muddy ground, scrambling for purchase as the Bloodbond dragged him away. He could just barely make out Roman’s silhouette as he disappeared into the shadows. He got to his feet and began sprinting after him, the prince’s name flying from his lips.

Roman ignored him and kept walking.

“Princey, what the  _fu —”_  He stopped, a horrifying realization dawning on him. The music that filled the air suddenly became all-too-familiar. If that was who he thought it was…

“Roman! Stop!” His desperate words were drowned by the siren’s song, and he let out a stream of furious curse-words as Roman stumbled towards the silhouette sitting on the side of the lake, a sob escaping his lips.  _“Damnit,_  princey!”

“It’s alright now.” The siren’s voice was sickeningly sweet honey. Magic darted beneath his words. Roman collapsed into his open arms and Anxiety grit his teeth, recognizing the soft golden glow of the siren’s eyes, the shimmer of yellow-green scales across his face. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Roman’s eyes had begun to shimmer with melted magical gold, his gaze growing empty behind his tears. The siren murmured calmingly to the enraptured prince, his voice practically dripping with magic. His form began to shimmer, his eyes glowing blinding yellow. Any moment now, he’d reveal his true form — his jaw would unhinge and his scales would spread and his golden light would devour Roman whole. Any moment now, Roman would die, and Anxiety would too.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“Damien!”

The siren’s true name echoed around the swamp as Anxiety stepped out into the moonlight, silently preparing for a battle. As far as sirens went, Damien was one of the worst. He wouldn’t give up his prey without a fight.

Damien barely flinched, offering Anxiety a disgustingly serene smile. “Anxiety, my old friend! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Save it,  _slimy,”_  Anxiety snapped, his magic flaring. “Let him go.”

“He is a human. What do you care if he dies?” Damien tilted his head, his eyes widening, his smile growing terrible, predatory. When Anxiety hesitated, a thousand spitfire retorts stuck in his throat, Damien’s smile grew. “My, my, how precious... Do you _care_  for this human?”

 _“Hell no,”_  Anxiety spat. “This is self-preservation. That’s  _it.”_

“Uh-huh,” Damien said, nodding patronizingly. “You’re  _definitely_  not lying, I  _can’t_ tell. It doesn’t matter; you’ve only made this more fun for me! Your grief will be  _delicious_  once I’ve killed your precious prince.”

“Princey!” Anxiety ignored Damien’s mocking tone, stepping as close as he dared.  _“Roman!_  Wake up, you asshole!”

Roman’s eyes had slipped shut; only a hint of golden light peeked out from beneath his eyelids, dusting his cheeks with faux-sunlight. Damien chuckled, tracing Roman’s jaw with his gloved hand. “He won’t wake,” he said, his voice chillingly soft. “He won’t ever wake again.”

“Fuck that,” Anxiety said, and thrust his hands forward. The blast of searing purple magic drove away the golden glimmer of Damien’s spell and the siren dove out of the way, Roman slipping from his hands and rolling across the swamp floor. Anxiety shot forward, heaving Roman to his feet with a grunt.

“Wake up. Wake  _up,_  princey,” he hissed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Damien climbed back to his feet, unbridled rage flickering across his face. “Damnit, Roman, wake the hell up!” Roman slumped in his arms, the golden light beneath his eyelids flickering faintly.

“You want him to wake? Fine.” Damien brushed dirt from his clothes and stepped forward, his hands shimmering with magic. His eyes narrowed. “Awaken, young prince.”

Roman’s eyes fluttered open and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the magic in his eyes casting golden light across Anxiety’s face. “A… Anxiety?” he murmured, his voice slow and exhausted and confused and broken.

“This demon is trying to take away the happiness I’ve given you!” Damien lied, his voice melodic and powerful. Roman’s eyes glowed brighter, anger flickering across his face.

“Wait, princey, no, he’s lying —”

“How could you?” Roman’s voice broke as he shoved out of Anxiety’s embrace, tears pooling in his eyes. His own magic, scarlet as blood, joined the gold shimmering across his skin. A whispered incantation, trembling with rage, brought a deadly-sharp sword to his hands.

“I can make you happy, my young prince,” Damien continued, “but you must destroy him first. It is the only way.”

“The only way…” Roman repeated, glaring at Anxiety through the tears spilling down his cheeks. He lifted his sword. “I thought you were _different,_  I — I thought we could —”

With a strangled noise somewhere between a sob and a cry of rage, he struck. Anxiety barely had time to raise a shield before the sword sliced right through him, and the force of Roman’s attack sent splintering spiderwebs cracking across the purple spell. Anxiety stumbled backward.

“Roman, stop it!” Another attack made the shield shatter, and desperation wove its way into his voice. “Snap out of it!”

His mind raced as he raised another shield, Damien’s laughter echoing through the swamp.  _How do you stop a siren’s spell?_  he wondered frantically as he shoved Roman backward, sending him stumbling. He dodged a blast of Roman’s fire and his eyes widened as the answer suddenly came to him. Dread filled his stomach.

_A sudden shock as powerful as the siren’s spell could break the siren’s hold._

Roman’s sword nicked his arm and he stumbled backward, clutching the wound. Across from him, Roman hissed in pain, his own sleeve growing dark with blood. Pain, maybe?

His leg exploded with pain as he lashed out, knocking Roman off his feet, and he paled. Any pain he managed to inflict on Roman would have to be powerful enough to rival Damien’s power. It would incapacitate them both.

 _“Goddamnit,_  princey —” He leaped out of the way of another attack, his arm and his leg burning. A sudden shock, a sudden shock… what could be shocking enough to match Damien’s power?

He froze, his eyes going wide. His idea was terrible, but it was  _shocking,_  maybe even shocking enough to break the spell. His chest seized with frustration as he sidestepped the next attack and stepped forward. He couldn’t think of anything more shocking than what he was about to do, and he hated it.

Roman lifted his sword. Anxiety wrapped his hands around Roman’s shirt collar.

Their lips collided in a brilliant explosion of violet and scarlet, driving away the last of the golden light hidden in Roman’s eyes.

* * *

 

It was like resurfacing from beneath the ocean, finding air to breathe when he’d only ever had water. Roman’s eyes fluttered shut and his sword clattered to the ground; the lips pressed against his were warm and soft and  _passionate_  and he melted into the kiss, his hands automatically reaching up to cup the back of the person’s head.

And that was when it hit him.

He’d been traveling. He’d been traveling, and his only travel partner, the only person he could _possibly_ be kissing right now, was…

The person shoved him away and coughed awkwardly, only meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. His pale face was flushed near-scarlet, his eyes narrowed as he glared at the ground, his wings shifting beneath his cloak. Roman took a shocked step back, gasping.

“Anxiety? What the  _hell?”_

“Glad to — to see you back to your old, annoying self, your highness.” He crossed his arms, his voice thick and hesitant.

“Wh — what does _that_ mean, demon?” His lips tingled with warmth and the acrid feeling of Anxiety’s magic. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. His cheeks felt wet; had he been  _crying?_

“Oh, how  _sweet.”_ The sudden voice cut off the angry remark burning on Roman’s tongue, and he whirled around, coming face to face with the  _thing_ standing before them. His skin was peppered with sickly yellow scales, his grin much too wide and his teeth much too sharp; his magic shimmered across his skin, hideous green-yellow, and it buzzed throughout the air in awful, electrifying currents. Rage danced within the hypnotic golden-yellow of his yes.

“A siren?!” He flexed his fingers and his sword jumped to his hand. Beside him, Anxiety rolled his eyes, his cloak billowing around him as he gathered his magic.

“Gee, it’s almost as if this place is filled with monsters! Maybe taking a nap here  _wasn’t_  such a good idea?” His clawed hands burst into violet flames as hot as the sarcasm in his voice. Roman rolled his eyes.

“What, can you only speak in sarcasm?”

“It’s like a second language to me.”

Roman huffed and ignored him, lifting his sword and ignoring the aftertaste of foreign magic seeping through every muscle and every bone, horrible and exhausting. The siren’s eyes flashed with excitement, his forked tongue slipping out to flick over his lips.

“Oh, thank you, Anxiety! It’s always so much more  _fun_  when my prey tries to fight back.” The fog around them began to rise and Roman stumbled as snake-like tendrils wrapped around his legs, searing through the fabric of his pants. He cleaved the foggy magic into pieces with his sword and rushed forward, his hasty attack bouncing off the siren’s powerful shield.

 _“We’re not your prey.”_  The demon spat out the words as though they held poison, his double-edged voice echoing around them. Something in his tone felt as though he’d faced this siren before.

_Like he’d been prey before._

Scarlet and violet raged against sickly yellow, the air alive with clashing magic. The siren was powerful, incredibly so; he fired off spells at a speed Roman could never hope to achieve, the soft his of his incantations filling the air — and Roman, his body exhausted and his magic depleted, could only do so much to keep up. His explosive spells just barely kept the siren at bay, through the fires they caused raged as hotly as the determination keeping him going.

But Anxiety, bathed in purples and reds and yellows, his magic burning with all the anger written across his face — he attacked  _relentlessly,_  the long-winded incantations for spells Roman had never even heard of sending ice crawling across the ground and lightning crackling through the air. For a moment, it seemed as though they were going to win, as though the siren was faltering.

But then the siren twisted his hands above his head and the two went flying, crashing into the ground nearly twenty feet away. Their spells fizzled and died and pain shot like lightning through every inch of Roman’s body.

Anxiety struggled against the tendrils of fog wrapping around him and binding him to the ground, his winds bent painfully against the dirt beneath him. Roman grit his teeth as the burning-hot ropes seared into his skin, yanking him down.

“You both did  _wonderfully.”_  The siren took agonizingly slow, deliberate footsteps towards them. He licked his lips with his awful forked tongue, relishing their fear as he approached. “You came so  _close_  to winning.”

He kneeled beside Anxiety, running a clawed finger down his jawline with a strange look on his face. Anxiety looked like he could barely breathe.

In one quick movement, his fingers had closed around Anxiety’s throat, his claws digging into the skin of his neck. The siren’s eyes began to shimmer, his smile growing wider, and Roman struggled even harder against his bonds as Anxiety froze, blood welling around the siren’s nails.

He had to do something.  _He had to do something._ Panic began to bubble in Roman’s stomach and he pushed it away —  _princes don’t get scared, princes don’t get scared_ — as he felt identical wounds open on his own neck. He could barely breathe through the phantom pressure around his throat.

A glimmer in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. His sword had landed nearly ten feet away, shimmering in the light from the siren’s magic. Roman flexed his fingers and closed his eyes, prodding inward to find what little magic he had left. It was nearly gone at this point; the fire that usually burned within his heart had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes, and he knew that if that smolder were to die out, he would die too.

But still he gathered his magic. He’d nearly run out before, for  _far_ less important reasons — and he didn’t think there were any reasons more important than this. He flexed his fingers and the sword jerked, shifting towards him. This time was  _necessary;_  he couldn’t breathe anymore, and he couldn’t hear anything but Anxiety’s gasping, dying breaths. This time was necessary.

He had to save his demon.

The sword jumped into his hands and he sliced his bonds apart, jumping to his feet and shoving the siren to the ground. “Stay away from him,” he growled as the pressure faded and sweet air flooded back into his lungs. His next attack nearly cleaved the siren’s hasty shield in two, and fear flashed through the  _thing’s_  eyes.

Attack. Attack. Attack. The siren couldn’t keep up, he had to slip eventually; Roman kept that thought in his mind as he powered through the exhaustion dogging his every move. He could hear Anxiety gasping for breath behind him and that only fueled his fury, his attacks growing faster and faster.

And finally, his sword cleaved right through the siren’s middle.

The siren stumbled backward, clutching the scarlet wound blooming across his stomach. He glared at Roman with more hatred than Roman had ever felt in his life, his scales growing lackluster, his eyes growing dim. “Well  _this_  all went according to plan,” he said weakly, and collapsed to the ground, his monstrous form dissolving into dust.

Roman regarded the dusty remains scattered across the ground with distaste and then turned to regard the demon. He kneeled beside him. “Hold still,” he commanded and sliced through the fog holding Anxiety to the ground. He offered him his hand, not quite meeting his eyes as he hefted him to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Anxiety gently touched the bleeding wounds on the side of his neck and said nothing, his gaze unreadable as he watched the siren’s ashes blow away. Roman sighed, allowing his sword to disappear in a shower of sparks, and finally, the demon spoke as he pulled his cloak’s hood back over his head.

“... thanks.”

“Ah, well.” Roman crossed his arms, his smile guarded and unsure but genuine. “You… you saved me from him first so… we’re even.”

“Yeah, well… if you die, I die too, right? It was self-preservation.” His face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, but Roman could hear the begrudging smile hidden in his voice.

“Yes. Self-preservation.” Roman allowed the moment to linger for a short while longer, and then broke it with a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head. “We should — we —” He yawned again, wider, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Anxiety rolled his eyes. _“You_  should get some sleep,” he said. “I-I mean — you humans are pretty weak without it. It’s almost pathetic.” He averted his gaze, the blanket Roman had summoned for him before reappearing in his hands. “I don’t want you  _dying_  on me or something because you haven’t slept enough. I’ll keep watch.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever die of something so silly,” he joked, and took the blanket anyway, wrapping it around his shoulders as he lowered himself to the ground. There was a strange feeling buzzing in his chest, a warmth unlike the fiery determination he was used to. This… was different.

He shook his head and laid down, watching as Anxiety sat cross-legged at the edge of the lake. He pulled off his cloak and spread his wings, the leathery skin catching the light of the moon — and Roman found himself smiling as he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, warmth still tingling across his lips.


	5. Chapter Five

Roman woke to nothingness.

The demon, their clearing, the lake beside them — everything had vanished, leaving nothing but emptiness behind, swirling darkness that seemed to tug at him. Only the moon remained, a spot of light high in the starless void above him, leering down at him almost… maliciously.

Cautiously, he got to his feet and opened his mouth to try to call out. But his voice lodged in his throat and refused to move, and no sound came out. He choked, a twinge of panic shooting cold fear through his lungs as he tried again, reaching up to clutch at his throat. It didn’t matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t breathe through the choking lump in his throat, and his voice remained silent, stolen,  _empty._

His fingers twitched by his side, aching in the absence of his sword. He tightened his hands into fists, shoving the fear crackling through his chest away.  _Princes don’t get scared._

He began to walk. His boots clicked against the ground beneath him, the sound echoing deafeningly through the void. His stomach tugged in all directions, as though the Bloodbond was trying and  _failing_  to find Anxiety, and that alone brought the carefully repressed fear flooding back into his lungs.

 _Princes don’t get scared,_ he thought to himself.  _Princes don’t get scared, princes don’t get scared, princes —_

“Princes don’t get scared.”

He stumbled, silently crying out as the nothingness around him shifted dizzyingly into a familiar room. As he straightened up, he recognized the ornate gilding across the walls, the soft light filtering through the diaphanous scarlet curtains, the cold, regal feeling in the air. His two brothers stood beside him — Phillip standing proudly with their mother’s golden hair and their father’s cruel face, Adam surveying everything with a cold, calculating glint in his dark eyes.

And he recognized the man standing before them, a prisoner bound in chains held tightly in his grasp. He recognized the scarp scar sliced across his eyebrow, the regal gleam in his eyes, the vivid silver-and-scarlet surrounding the golden insignia of Gaepried on the chest of his armor.

“Princes don’t get scared,” King Odin said again, his tone severe as he looked at each of his sons in turn. Roman quickly straightened his spine and clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to show any sort of weakness beneath his father’s glare. “You are my sons,” he continued, and the prisoner’s chains clinked as he strode forward. ‘You will show no weakness. You will show no fear. You will show no mercy.”

He strode past Adam, who nodded solemnly. He strode past Phillip, who met their father’s eyes bravely, every bit the king he was destined to become. And finally, he stopped before Roman, dragging the prisoner violently to his side. The prisoner’s face stayed bathed in the shadows from their hood, unreadable, unrecognizable.

“Summon your sword, my son,” Odin said, and Roman’s voice returned just enough to croak the incantation. His fingers closed around the cold hilt of his sword and a glint appeared in King Odin’s eyes. “You will show no mercy,” he repeated, and the soft edge to his voice was familiar enough to send an awful shiver down Roman’s spine. He swallowed.

The prisoner hissed in pain as King Odin shoved him forwards. Roman’s eyebrows furrowed; there was something horribly familiar about that noise. “Prove your loyalty to me, son. Prove your strength. Kill this  _demon.”_

His hand darted out and yanked the prisoner’s hood down — and Roman’s eyes met Anxiety’s. His sword nearly fell from his grip as a pained gasp escaped his lips.

“Princes don’t get scared.” His father read the shock, the fear, right off of Roman’s face. Roman’s fingers tightened around his sword, but he hesitated, lost in the deep purple-blue of Anxiety’s eyes. King Odin yanked on the chains and drew the demon back into his arms, his laugh echoing off the walls, too loud, too loud.

“You will never make me proud.” Tears well in Roman’s eyes as his father drew a silver dagger and pushed it against Anxiety’s throat, drops of deep crimson welling around the blade. Roman tried to move but his body was frozen in place, tried to scream but his voice was locked deep within him. His gaze was stuck on the scarlet streaks tracing down the demon’s neck. King Odin’s fingers tightened around the blade, his laugh deafening,  _deafening, **deafening —**_

 _“No!”_  The cry tore from his throat, agonizingly painful, and he shot awake as scarlet flashed before his vision. Still at his perch by the lake, Anxiety jumped, yelping in shock as Roman’s cry echoed around the swamp.

“Shit, princey,  _what —”_  He jumped to his feet as Roman shoved the tangled blanket away, furiously forcing his fear away and getting to his feet. He cleared his throat and steadied his shaking hands.  _Hide it,_  his mind told him in his father’s voice.  _Princes don’t get scared._

“What the hell was that?” Anxiety demanded, though the look in his eyes suggested he already knew. Roman schooled his face, calmed the tremble in his voice, shook the image of splattered scarlet from his mind.

“None of your business,” he said sharply, striding away from the demon. He despised the feeling that bloomed in his stomach when the Bloodbond tugged Anxiety after him. His hands shook and he grit his teeth, his father’s voice echoing through his mind.

_Princes don’t get scared, princes don’t get scared, princes don’t get scared._

“Bullshit.” Whatever tentative alliance they’d come to the night before had been shattered; the angry, hateful edge to Anxiety’s words was back and stronger than ever. Roman ignored him and kept walking, following the rising sun towards the capital city in the east. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t dwell; he  _had_  to make it and undo his mistakes. It was all he could do.

Anxiety stomped after him, exhaustion and anger coursing through the darkness of his eyes. For a moment, Roman almost regretted ruining the hesitant almost-friendship they’d achieved — until his father’s voice filled his mind again, cold and furious and loud, and he shoved those  _traitorous_  feelings down until he couldn’t feel them any longer. The demon protested for a bit longer before falling silent, shadows of anger and almost-betrayal falling across his face.

Light flooded the swamp of Demibi as morning dragged on, but the monsters that infested the swamp were as unphased by the light as they were by Roman’s sword. Finally, Roman understood why he and so many knights before him had been told to never enter the swamp. If it weren’t for Anxiety’s help, he would surely have died.

By the time they finally found their way back to the path, finally escaped the muddy confines of the swamp, they were both riddled with wounds, their exhaustion only adding to the furious tension between them.

Roman ached. His shirt sleeve was torn and bloodied and his magic was far too drained to fix it, and he limped with every step, his wobbling gait mirrored by the demon. Morning dragged into afternoon and then evening as they made their way along the path, past the endless fields of the Gaepriedian countryside. Roman stewed in his own thoughts, in the relentless memory of his nightmare, and wondered if he’d ever escape the mistakes he’d made.

Finally,  _finally,_  a village appeared on the horizon. The sign of civilization, of people, nearly made Roman burst into tears right then and there. Instead, he stopped in his tracks and laughed in relief, an exhausted smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Anxiety glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “...You’ve got a stupid smile,” he said, crossing his arms as he turned to regard the village. His voice had lost that furious edge that Roman had grown so used to.

“Stupidly  _handsome,_  you mean?” Side by side, they started towards the village, and Roman ached at the thought of sleeping in a real bed, of eating food that wasn’t days-old and cold.

“Stupid,” Anxiety repeated, shooting him a deadpan stare. Roman feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart as though he’d been mortally wounded, and Anxiety rolled his eyes, glancing away as the corners of his mouth twitched.

This was  _much_  better than angry silence, Roman decided as they walked towards the village, the awful guilt in the pit of his stomach fading away. Their conversation was short and hesitant, riddled with insults and biting sarcasm, but to Roman’s great surprise, it wasn’t… bad.

_God, what would his father think of him now?_

But as they approached the village, something changed. Recognition flashed through Anxiety’s eyes as they passed the village’s entrance, and he paled as he regarded the town before them, people bustling through the streets even at the late hour. He pulled his hood over his head and seemed to shrink into himself, offering nothing when Roman shot him a prying look.

The town itself — Transi village, a sign near the border read — was as simple as it was small, nothing but a typical farming village. Small houses centered near a single church and a run-down inn, conversations and the smell of home-cooked food floating through the air. The townspeople paid no mind to the two injured strangers in dirty, tattered clothes as they made their way to the inn, and that was just as well; Roman didn’t need to be recognized as the prince right then,  not while traveling with a demon.

The inn was small, crowded with people and the heavy scent of ale and stew. Roman strode up to the counter, his stomach rumbling, and Anxiety trailed along behind him, his wings folded so tightly into his back that they were practically invisible beneath his cloak. Curiosity and suspicion welled within Roman at the demon’s strange behavior. What was he hiding?

The stew was stale and left much to be desired, and the innkeeper’s tired eyes seemed to trail after Roman as they made their way to a table, sending a shiver down his spine. But the food was warm and filling, and two beds waited for them upstairs, sure to be more comfortable than the forest floor no matter how unpleasant they were.

 _Besides,_ he thought as he collapsed into bed that night,  _the farming villages are right on the edge of the capital city._  They had made good time, much faster than Roman had expected, and soon their journey would be over. Roman would be free, Anxiety would be gone, and everything would go back to normal. There was nothing to worry about!

* * *

 

There was something to worry about.

He’d woken to muffled yelling from downstairs, voices pitched with fury floating in from below. Anxiety had disappeared from the other bed, his sheets mussed and spilled onto the floor as though he’d gotten up in a hurry. Roman could feel the sharpness of the demon’s magic in the air, and the Bloodbond tugged straight down, nearly anchoring him to the bed.

Roman struggled against the bond’s power as he stumbled to his feet, calling Anxiety’s name as he made his way down the stairs. The yelling voices were all mushed together; he couldn’t make out one argument over all the others. The Bloodbond pulled him through the crowd, and he pushed and shoved past all the angry townspeople until finally, he was face to face with his demon.

He’d been cornered. His cloak was in a tattered heap on the floor, as though someone had ripped it off him, and one wing was bent awkwardly, painfully, as if it had been broken. Something had torn a bloody gash across his cheek; Roman could feel his own cheek mirroring the pain, and he finally recognized the iron taste of blood in his mouth. Anxiety’s magic flared in streaks of terrified violet, and though Roman knew he held enough power to take out every human in the room, he cowered instead, refusing to attack.

“ — came back to finish the job!” the villager beside Roman yelled, his words slurred and his breath thick with the scent of alcohol. The woman beside him held a broken plate like a weapon, brandishing it towards Anxiety fiercely, and it took every bit of willpower within Roman not to draw his sword on her.

“Murderer!” another woman yelled, furious tears sliding down her pinched red cheeks. Anxiety flinched.

“You won’t get away this time!” one man yelled, standing taller than all the rest. “You’ll pay for what you did to them!”

Roman’s fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword — but who would he fight?  _Protect the villagers,_  his mind bellowed, at the same time his heart cried out to protect the demon. He glanced up, and his eyes met Anxiety’s.

_Anxiety was crying._

Roman’s body moved before his mind could process what was happening, his sword shining in the soft morning light as he held it towards the villagers. They gasped, drawing back, their eyes darting to the royal insignia on the sword’s hilt.

“I guess our secret is out,” he murmured, holding his sword high, his fingers closed so tightly around the hilt that his knuckles turned stark white. Angry muttering broke out among the villagers; Roman knew it was only a matter of time before they realized how easily they could take him, how easily each and every one of them could hold this over the kingdom’s head. And once news of this betrayal reached his father...

 _“What are you doing?”_  Anxiety hissed, his teary eyes darting between Roman’s sword and the crowd. Roman rolled his eyes, his stomach sinking as the villagers regrouped.

“What does it look like?” he snapped. “I’m rescuing you. Stay behind me.” He swept his gaze over the crowd of villagers, at least half holding weapons, and cleared his throat, giving his best, most charming smile. “Any chance we can settle this peacefully?”

The nearest villager — a soldier, judging by his uniform — drew a sword and jabbed it at Roman. “Ah,” Roman said. “I thought not.”

Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel. Roman grit his teeth as he kept the swordsman at bay, as other villagers approached, their makeshift weapons clutched tightly in their hands. He twisted his wrist and the villager’s sword went flying, clattering to the ground.

“We have to get out of here!” Anxiety’s voice was so panicked and distorted that Roman could barely understand it. He heaved a heavy sigh, lifting his sword once more as three more soldiers took the first one’s place, resolved to defend their village.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said, his sword held aloft. “Grab my hand!” he whispered as they attacked, hastily blocking a near-deadly blow.

“What?”

“Damnit, Anxiety!” One sword grazed his arm and he hissed in pain, catching the next blow with his blade and shoving. One soldier stumbled back; the other two kept attacking. He felt a rough, calloused hand wrap around his free hand and he held it tight, gathering his magic.

“We’d  _love_  to stay and chat —” Block, parry, twist; soldier two’s sword went flying. “— but I do believe we’ve overstayed our welcome. Farewell!”

He held his arms wide and bowed; his magic flashed bright white as he whispered the incantation; and soldier three lunged, blindly jabbing his sword.


	6. Chapter Six

Roman stumbled as the world twisted around them, the forest floor shooting up to meet his feet.

Anxiety yanked his hand away as though he’d been burned, falling to his knees with an agonized gasp. Roman raised an eyebrow, setting his hands on his hips as he regarded the demon before him. “Mind explaining what that was all about?” he demanded, his voice sharper than his sword.

But Anxiety didn’t answer. Slowly, he shifted, moving his arms away from his middle, and every ounce of fight left in Roman vanished. A blossom of bright crimson had stained the faded purple of his shirt. The soldier’s final blow must have hit its mark.

“Oh, you’re —” Roman began, but he was cut off when Anxiety gasped, his gaze caught on Roman’s stomach. Roman lifted his hand, absently regarding the blood splattered across it.  _“Oh,”_  he said again softly as his legs gave out.

 _“Idiot,”_  Anxiety hissed, his voice thick with pain.  _“Idiot, idiot, idiot.”_

“Hey,” Roman said weakly, trying (and failing) to gather enough magic to heal himself. “I just saved your life.”

“I’m not talking about you.” Anxiety fought to regain control of his breathing, both hands clamped over his wound, his eyes screwed tightly shut. His broken wing twitched by his side, the dark skin stained with bright red blood. His magic flickered in and out and he trembled, his face scrunched up as tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes.

Roman watched, silent. Slowly, carefully, he inched forward, his torso screaming with pain at the effort. He didn’t meet the demon’s eyes as he gently placed his hands over Anxiety’s, funneling his own magic into him. The weakly flickering purple aura strengthened and brightened to vivid magenta, and the pain in Roman’s stomach began to fade as the wound closed, the soft pink fusion of their magic shimmering across their hands.

Roman’s hands lingered for a moment after the healing was done, his eyes caught in the glimmer of pink. He  _knew_  this was wrong; mixing magic was one of the most intimate things a mage could do, and to do so with a  _demon_ … it would be considered worse than treason.

So… why did it feel so  _right?_

He let out a breath as their eyes met. A moment passed, silent, ethereal — and then Roman shot to his feet, dusting his hands off and turning away. “That — I — this —” he stuttered, lost among the words that clogged his throat. He longed to say a thousand different things, ask a thousand different questions;  _was that okay? Are we okay?_

He cleared his throat and opted for an indifferent, “are you okay?” as he straightened out his shirt, glaring at the scarlet stains surrounding the hole the sword had left behind. Behind him, he heard Anxiety get to his feet.

“Fine,” he said, his voice gruff and closed-off. He shifted his wing experimentally, gaze unreadable as he brushed his fingers against the drying blood. Roman sighed, crossing his arms.

“We should be safe now,” he began. “Teleportation spells are not my forte, but we should be far enough away that —”

“This way! I can sense his magic!”

The sudden voice, much too close to be safe, sent terror shooting down Roman’s spine. He  _knew_  that voice. “Oh my — we have to go. Now.” He darted forward and grabbed Anxiety’s arm, and the demon’s barely stifled yelp echoed around them as he yanked him into the forest. The achingly familiar voice paused.

He cursed under his breath, tightening his hold on Anxiety’s arm as they darted through the thick forest. He had to get away, because if  _they_  were to find him…

“Prince Roman!” The voice followed them, too loud, too  _close_ , and Roman quickly changed course. “I know your magic, Roman! You can’t get away!”

 _“Shit.”_  Roman’s lungs were filled with freezing panic and he cursed himself for ever setting foot in that goddamned village. How could he have been so stupid?

“Wh —  _princey!”_  Anxiety yanked his arm out of Roman’s grip and ran alongside him, panic and anger battling for dominance in his eyes. “Who is this guy? Why does he know your magic? Do you know him?”

It had begun to rain. Roman hastily wiped water from his face, slipping and sliding across the wet grass. “I know them,” he said, his mind filled with memories of training sessions and late-night sleepovers and a powerful magic that left Roman awed even now. Growing up, Roman had never doubted that they’d choose their kingdom over all else — he’d just never expected to be counted as something other than their kingdom.

The rain poured harder and still they kept running,  _their_  voice rising above the rumble of thunder. Roman and Anxiety stumbled into a clearing and a flash of blinding lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating the group waiting for them on the other side, led by a tall person in a shining mage’s uniform.

“I told you you couldn’t get away.”

Joan, the Royal Mage’s understudy, the second most powerful mage in the entire kingdom, stood tall before them, leading the group of villagers from the tavern. Silently, Roman cursed himself; how could he have forgotten that Joan lived so close to that stupid village?

“Joan, listen, i-it’s not what you think —”

“I won’t hesitate,” Joan began quickly, cutting him off, “to fight any traitor to the kingdom. Fighting your own people, defending a demon… I don’t think I have to tell you how bad that is.”

“Joan —”

“I don’t want to fight you, Roman.” Their tone grew quiet. “Give us the demon. Please.”

Roman glanced between Anxiety and Joan, and the Bloodbond gave a sharp tug, as if reminding him how much he couldn’t do that. “I can’t, Joan,” he said softly, forcing the words through the lump in his throat.

Joan sighed. They flexed their fingers and a ball of magical light appeared in their palm, casting flickering green across the clearing. Roman’s heart twinged at the sight of its glow. Once upon a time, that glow meant adventures, training sessions, time spent with one of the most incredible mages the kingdom had to offer.

Now, it only meant death.

Roman stepped forward, igniting a flame in his own palm. It was small, flickering weakly under the deluge of rain, and Roman knew he couldn’t hold a candle to Joan’s power in this state. Still, he continued forward, and Joan gestured to the mob of angry villagers to stay back.

“You’re making a mistake, Roman,” Joan said, steam and smoke billowing around their magic. The rain only fell harder.

“Well, that’s nothing new.” Anxiety’s voice joined the mix, loud to be heard against the rumbling thunder. “He makes mistakes all the time.”

Joan hesitated for a moment as Anxiety stepped up behind Roman — but then, in a voice thick with regret and betrayal and spite, they muttered a spell and sent their flame flying, barrelling towards Roman. But the instant before it hit, a pair of strong arms looped through his, and a crack filled the air as Anxiety’s wings shot open and pushed, sending them flying.

“What are you  _doing?”_  Wind and rain whistled past Roman’s face as they shot higher and higher, his stomach twisting as they looped to dodge another of Joan’s attacks. Below them, the villagers’ anger swelled.

“What does it look like?” Anxiety dove to the side, just barely dodging the next attack. “I’m rescuing you.”

“I don’t — I don’t need —” He struggled in the demon’s grip as lightning flashed above them, illuminating the determined look in Anxiety’s eyes. Joan and the villagers were growing smaller beneath them as Anxiety flew higher and higher, raindrops lashing at his open wings.

“Shield!” Anxiety yelled as he twisted in midair, and Roman got the meaning just in time to hastily block the next attack, green and red sparks flying through the air as flame and shield collided. “Hold on!” he demanded, tightening his hold around Roman’s torso with one arm as he let go and held out his other hand. As the next bolt of lightning flashed through the air, he raised his hand, catching it in his palm and thrusting his arm forward with a pained yell.

Roman gasped, wincing as a deafening crack filled the air, as the lightning sent Joan and the villagers tumbling backward. The spell had torn right through the demon’s skin, leaving his hand burned and raw, the tattered remains of his sleeve fluttering around his arm.

Roman’s heart pounded, his arm going numb to mirror Anxiety’s injury. Joan disappeared among the trees as Anxiety flew, farther and farther, and panic seeped into Roman’s lungs as pained confusion shot through his mind. This was it; Joan would tell the Royal Mage and the Royal Mage would tell his father and then  _everything_  would be over. His father’s voice echoed in his mind.

_“You will never make me proud.”_

He looked up at the demon, his teeth grit in pain and his eyes narrowed against the driving rain, and then back down at the forest, a blob of black rushing past beneath them, and he knew.

There was no going back.


	7. Chapter Seven

Anxiety stumbled to the ground on a cliffside on the other edge of the capital city, falling to his knees with a pained gasp. His arm hung limply by his side, a mess of black and red, and his face was ashen, weak with the kind of confusion that only magical exhaustion could bring about. Roman clutched his own numb arm, his hand coming away slick with blood.

The rain poured harder, the sky black as night, though it couldn’t have been later than midday. Roman regarded the dark silhouette of the castle,  _his_  castle, against the horizon, watching as lightning flashed across the sky and illuminated its familiar towers. His heart jolted at the sight and he forced himself to turn away.

They’d landed on a small, rocky outcropping on the side of one of the Palaro mountains, high above the rest of the world. There was no shelter, no safety; the tiny platform was  _barely_  even big enough to hold the two of them comfortably. And Roman had never seen Anxiety in worse shape; his face pinched and ghastly pale, his arm burnt, he sat drenched and shivering and feverish.

He could feel the demon’s weakness seeping into him through the Bloodbond. How long before the numbness wore off, before the pain set in, before the injury incapacitated them both? He had to act quickly.

His magic was running  _dangerously_  low. He took a deep breath and held out his uninjured hand, casting a shimmering scarlet shield around the edge of the tiny cliff. Then, ignoring Anxiety’s confused look, he did the same around the demon.

 _“Terebro praemium.”_  It was an old, crude, dangerous spell, but it was all he could do in his drained state. It did the trick; the side of the mountain burst in an explosion of magic, and chunks of rock ricocheted off the shields, clattering to the ground far below.

Black spots danced before his vision. His heart pounded weakly, blood rushing in his ears. He forced away his exhaustion and snapped, and the shields disappeared.

“Anxiety,” he said sharply, and the demon slowly lifted his head, his eyes dulled to gray. “Can you stand?”

Anxiety winced, averting his gaze as he slowly tried to get to his feet. But he pitched forward the moment he stood, and Roman just barely caught him. His skin was fervid, feverish; was the cold seeping through Roman just a reflection of the demon’s fever?

“You're hot,” Roman said as he pulled the demon to the tiny shelter he’d created. The rough, rocky roof above them kept the rain at bay, and all it took was a simple shield spell to block the wind.

“Thanks,” Anxiety responded with a weak smirk, leaning heavily against the wall. Roman ignored him, forcing the exhaustion from his bones. From the ghastly way Anxiety looked — and from the heavy weakness seeping through Roman, and the pain beginning to burst through the numbness in his burned arm — he didn’t have much time.

The outside of his bag was soaked through, but the bandages inside had stayed mostly dry. He kneeled beside the demon and set the bandages down, wrapping both hands around Anxiety’s forearm. For a moment, he hesitated. It was dangerous,  _deadly,_  to use so much magic in one go, and to risk his life like that for a  _demon?_

 _Traitor,_  his mind whispered in his father’s voice.  _Traitor, traitor, traitor. You will never make me proud._

Roman stared the memory of his father down as he murmured the incantation. Relief flooded through his own arm as Anxiety’s wound closed. He was far too drained to do more than gently close the wound, but though Anxiety still trembled, his arm still burnt, his ghastly pallor began to fade to something more normal, and his breathing evened.

Roman collapsed against the side of the cave. His magic was so badly drained that he could barely feel it anymore, and he shivered without the warmth of that internal flame, empty. He heard Anxiety shift, saw him lift his injured arm and gaze at it, his face unreadably dark.

“Roman…”

“You saved me.” Roman’s voice was weakness, a low crackling whisper. “You…” Their eyes met and he stopped, decades of his father’s teachings forcing him to avert his gaze. He swallowed, and stiffly, almost robotically, scooped the roll of bandages off the floor. “Give me your arm,” he said, voice quiet.

“Why are you doing this?” Anxiety asked warily, narrowing his eyes. Roman huffed when the demon held his arm close to himself, meeting his gaze defiantly. “Why are you helping me? We’re enemies, remember?”

He was right, of course — the two were enemies by nature, by blood. They weren’t supposed to  _help_  each other. But… “We’re in this together. Whether we like it or not.” He gestured for Anxiety’s arm, his voice quiet and laced with uncertainty as he spat on his father’s teachings and added, “besides, you’re not… all bad.”

Anxiety searched his face for some proof that he was joking, some cruel crack in the genuity written into his eyes, and found none. Slowly, hesitantly, he held out his injured arm, and Roman set to work wrapping bandages around it, gentle as he touched the raw skin.

A moment passed, silent. Roman never lifted his gaze from the bandages, just as Anxiety never lifted his gaze from Roman, his eyes muddled with thought.

“That was my home village,” Anxiety said finally, the words leaving him in a near-silent rush, as though they’d forced their way out. Roman paused, meeting his gaze and raising a brow.

“What?”

“That — I — you —” Anxiety struggled with his words, wrapping his wings around himself in lieu of his cloak. He looked away, refusing to meet Roman’s eyes. “You were being… nice. I mean, uh, you know… nicer than usual, and I — you deserve to —” He wilted. “Nevermind.”

“No!” Roman looped the final bandage and yanked the roll free. “No,” he said again, quieter. “You… you can… I mean —”

Anxiety snorted as he stuttered to a stop, and Roman silently cursed himself. Since when had he ever been at a loss for words? He watched Anxiety laughed for a moment, and his cheeks began to feel warm despite the cold wind seeping in from around the shield. Maybe he still had a fever?

But Anxiety’s laughter faded as quickly as it had begun, and soon the only sound was the wind howling outside. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, his expression quiet and sad.

“That… that was my home village,” he said again, biting his lip.

“So that’s why the villagers knew you?” Roman asked. “What… what did you do to them?”

“Just shut up and listen!” he snapped, wrapping his arms and his wings tighter around himself. “I didn’t do  _anything,_  okay? I didn’t do anything…”

He let out a shaky sigh. “My mother was a demon. O-Obviously. I never got to meet her, but… I’ve heard she was one of the worst. But my father…” He chuckled humorlessly. “He was a stupid fisherman from Transi who fell in love with her.”

“Wait, so you’re —”

“Part human? Yes. Unfortunately.” He rolled his eyes, anger and self-hatred dancing with his words. “She liked to trick people for fun. She saw an opportunity in him and didn’t realize her mistake until it was too late. I was the accidental product. She left the moment I was born, a-and he… he did his best to raise me, I guess. I was just too…” He gestured at himself, at the inky blackness of his eyes and the bat-like wings furled around his body.

“Different,” Roman finished for him. His heart thudded in his chest, his voice so quiet that Anxiety almost didn’t hear him. For once, his father’s voice was absent from his mind.

Anxiety paused, regarding Roman for a fleeting moment. His gaze was clouded with memories, and he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, picking at his bandages. He seemed hesitant to continue, his cheeks dusted with pale pink, and though Roman burned with curiosity, he understood.

“You don’t have to…” he started, and Anxiety grimaced, wrestling with himself. His frustrated groan was almost lost to the howling of the wind outside.

“I was ten.” His voice was a hoarse whisper; Roman had to strain to hear him over the wind. “He… he took me out fishing. Wanted to include me, I guess. I-it was the first time I had ever gone into town.”

“Some townspeople saw us and… they thought I was kidnapping him or something. They followed us to the river and he tried to defend me and — and they —” He stopped, breath hitching in his throat, and their shelter fell silent. He shrank back against the wall, distrust and indecisive fear filling his eyes; he was closing off again, refusing to finish his story.

But he didn’t have to. Roman had heard this story before. Three townspeople and one fisherman killed in a vicious demon attack in the small town of Transi, yet another argument for his father’s hatred.

“I didn’t kill him,” Anxiety said, more to himself than to Roman, and Roman’s heart twisted.  _“I didn’t kill him._  They — they pushed him into the way when he tried to save me, and I… I was ten, I didn’t know how to — how to control myself yet, and —”

Roman remembered this, a scene from years and years ago: his father ordering the demon to be exorcised, ordering  _him_  to attend the villagers’ funerals with him. He remembered being terrified as his father told the story.

He remembered catching the eye of a young boy with wings being shuffled to the center of town, mere moments before he was exorcised, before he was  _supposed_  to be killed.

His heart pounded in his chest. His father had told him the demon had attacked unprovoked, that it deserved to be punished. His father had told him they were  _all_  bad.

His father was  _wrong._

Slowly, he shifted, his gaze never leaving Anxiety as he pushed away from the shield-wall and moved to the opposite side. Sitting beside him, Roman reached out and gently took Anxiety’s hand, and Anxiety didn’t stop him.

“I’m so  _sorry,”_  Roman said, and for the first time since they’d met, his voice was truly genuine — no hint of boisterous drama or overzealous anger or royal pride, just a soft, whispered apology, nearly lost among the noise of the storm outside.

Anxiety stared. He searched Roman’s face for any hint of cruelty or mocking, and looked away when he found none, staring at his boots. Silence fell over their small shelter.

His father was wrong.  _His father was wrong._  It was a possibility Roman had never even considered, one so glaringly obvious now that his stomach twisted with guilt. He leaned against the wall of their cave and let out a soft breath, his chest fluttering with something new as he watched Anxiety succumb to his exhaustion, his eyes slipping shut.

They fell asleep as the starlight began to shine through the stormclouds once more, their hands still intertwined.

And for the first time in forever, Roman didn’t have a single nightmare.


	8. Chapter Eight

The sun shone brightly on the city far below, turning the capital into a mess of glittering reflections and bright lights. Roman sat on the edge of the cliff as he waited for Anxiety to wake, his gaze heavy and pained as he regarded his castle, his  _home._

It wouldn’t be long now before his father knew everything. What would happen to Anxiety then? What would happen to  _him?_  He’d be punished, maybe even banished. He’d never see his home again.

He drew his knees to his chest and rested his arms atop them, letting out a wistful sigh. He knew every inch of that castle and every memory each inch held — the room where Joan had first trained him, where he’d first learned to use magic; the library where he’d first met Logan, the tiny son of the royal librarian; his tower, high above the rest, where the stars felt close enough to touch. Memories flashed through his mind, and his chest ached at each and every one.

He wanted things to return to how they were. He wanted to go back to his castle, back to those memories. He wanted to go  _home._

“Princey?”

The sudden voice made him jump to his feet, brushing away every bittersweet thought in favor of a raised brow and a mocking smirk. “Welcome back to the world of the living, demon,” he quipped as Anxiety yawned. “I didn’t know it was possible to sleep for so long.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not  _my_  fault I had to use up all my magic,” Anxiety retorted, joining him at the cliff’s edge. “With all the danger you keep getting us into, I need my rest.”

“Hah! What’s life without a little danger?” Roman asked, grinning.

“Safe.” Anxiety reached up to pull his hood over his head before remembering that his cloak had been destroyed. He opted to cross his arms instead, expression unreadable as he regarded the kingdom before them. “So… what are we going to do?” he asked.

“The Royal Mage is the only one who can break this curse,” Roman said. “My father won’t be… happy… but I am the prince and they have to listen to me. I’ll just explain what happened and… and then you can go home.”

Roman didn’t miss the way Anxiety winced, his nails digging into his arm as he tensed. “You’re sure this’ll work?”

He wasn’t sure at all. Joan had been all too willing to fight against him; surely, his father would do the same. But Joan was loyal, and King Odin was cruel, and from what he’d heard, the Royal Mage was a _kind_  man, more than willing to help those in need. He was their only hope.

“I’m sure!” he said after a moment’s pause. “You just have to trust me.”

“Because that’s worked out  _so_  well for me in the past, right?” Anxiety raised a brow, his tone just light enough to let Roman know he was teasing. He picked at the bandages around his arm. Roman had healed the injury again that morning with as much magic as he could muster, but their arms were still sore, and the scarring would likely never disappear.

Anxiety didn’t meet Roman’s eyes as he wrapped his good arm around him, his open wings shining in the sunlight. He was still weak from his long flight the night before; he could just barely fly them to the forest directly below, forcing them to walk the rest of the way to the capital. But… that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Something had changed between them. Where they’d once traveled silently, their few conversations riddled with hatred, now they’d settled into a sort of awkward familiarity, talking and arguing almost playfully as they made their way through the forest. What had happened the night before had made everything different.

Roman didn’t mind in the slightest.

He knew the forest they were in like the back of his hand, and his heart panged with nostalgia as he passed the stream where he used to study, and the little clearing where he’d practice his magic. So much had changed since the last time he’d visited.

After today, would he ever be able to visit again?

Morning dragged on into a comfortably warm afternoon, and Roman ignored the doubts flooding his mind and focused on the feeling of the sun across his skin, allowing himself a smile. They’d been walking — and talking — for quite a while, and with every word the demon spoke, Roman  _knew._ His father was  _wrong._

But their conversation came to an abrupt halt the moment the forest ended and the capital city came into view. Roman stopped in his tracks, regarding the town before them, the people milling about in the streets.

He yanked his cape from his shoulders and whispered a quiet incantation, watching as it shifted into a dark red cloak, just big enough to hide Anxiety’s wings. “Stay close to me,” he whispered as Anxiety threw the cloak over his shoulders, his chest clenching with nervousness.

But no one recognized them among the sea of other faces bustling through, and avoiding the few guards out patrolling was child’s play. Confidence began to push aside the panic in his lungs, and he smiled to himself. This was going to work! It had to.

The Royal Mage lived in a big house just on the edge of the castle grounds, open to any who needed help. Roman had never met the man, but he knew of his power, and of his kindness, and he knew that if they made it to him, they’d be okay.

Soon enough, they found themselves standing on the Royal Mage’s doorstep, bathed in the shadow of the castle looming overhead. Roman took a deep breath, pushing away the doubts gnawing at his stomach, and raised his hands to knock.

“Wait!” Anxiety’s voice stopped him in his tracks and he turned, raising an eyebrow. The demon shifted where he stood. “There are… a lot of ways this could go badly. A lot.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Roman responded, crossing his arms. Anxiety glared, bristling at the sarcasm in his tone.

“I might not make it out of this, okay? You know what y —  _they_  think of people like  _me.”_  He pushed a hand through his hair, his hood flopping down, and Roman’s face softened. “So, just in case… a-and I’m trusting you with this, so you’d better not do anything stupid or anything —

“When have I ever done anything stupid?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” The corners of Anxiety’s mouth twitched as Roman feigned offense. But the smile faded quickly, and he closed his eyes, steeling himself.  _“My name is Virgil!”_

Roman blinked, hesitating as he tried to make sense of the rushed, jumbled sentence. His eyes widened as the severity of the situation hit him; true names, especially those of creatures like demons, were important, incredibly so. For Anxiety to trust him with that…

“Virgil?” he repeated, tone quiet, serious. “That’s your true name?”

Virgil nodded, regarding him warily, his gaze nervous and tense.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Roman said softly, and Virgil relaxed somewhat, his shy almost-smile sending Roman’s heart into a frenzy. “It fits you.”

Virgil’s cheeks darkened, pink spreading across his face. “Yeah, well…  _ugh._  Don’t make this any  _sappier_ than it has to be,” he growled, averting his gaze. Roman laughed and he glared, crossing his arms. “Are you gonna get this over with or what?” he asked, nodding to the door.

“Ah, yes, r-right.” Roman turned swiftly, ignoring the way his heart pounded, stewing in a mess of too many emotions to name. “Don’t worry, I… I promise,  _Virgil,_  I’ll get you out of this. Alive.”

Virgil snorted. “Just knock on the door, princey.”

Roman took a deep breath. No matter what, no matter which outcome they faced… everything would change once they knocked on this door. His face hardened with resolve. He shared one last look with Virgil, and raised his hand.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._


	9. Chapter Nine

Silence.

Roman knocked again, harder this time, but still silence reigned, and the door remained closed. His eyebrows furrowed, and he reached down to try the handle.

“What the hell?” he whispered as the door creaked open, revealing the dark, empty room beyond. He held out his hand, summoning a small, flickering scarlet flame to illuminate the room.

Bits of broken, burnt furniture littered the floor, a minefield of ripped books and spilled ink and shattered possessions. But it wasn’t the destruction that twisted Roman’s lungs and set fire to his thoughts.

Only the table in the center of the room remained, tinted blood-red in the light from Roman’s fire. He recognized the tattered remains of the Royal Mage’s uniform, folded neatly atop the table — and he recognized the bright crimson of the Gaepried emblem of his father’s crown, dripping with scarlet liquid.

The world had shattered, had gone silent save for the deafening beating of his own heart. He felt numb, detached, floating away as his gaze caught on the droplets of red splattered across his father’s crown. There was one last item on the table: a piece of paper that crinkled beneath his tense grip when he picked it up, a terrifying note written in red.

“What happened here?” Virgil stepped over the shattered remains of what had once been a mirror, the bluish-purple of his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. His gaze fell on Roman. “... princey?”

Roman didn’t answer. He barely even heard him. His grip on the note tightened as he read it, over and over again, shock and fear and fury and disbelief welling up all at once within him.

Virgil stepped up beside him, peering at the note over his shoulder — and a moment later he stumbled back, terror flashing through his wide eyes. He glanced between the tattered uniform, the bloody crown, and the note, his face going ghastly pale as he connected the dots.

_“Come and find us.”_

Four words. Four words written in black above a horribly familiar runic circle drawn in horribly familiar rusty red. He knew every curve of nearly every rune, every bit of demonic magic written into its corners. He’d been trained to recognize it, trained to  _avoid_  it at all costs.

“That’s —” Virgil began, voice halting and fearful.

“A portal spell,” Roman finished for him, gently tracing the outline of the circle and feeling the potent magic stored inside. “A demonic portal spell.”

“No!” Virgil stepped forward, swallowing hard as he regarded the note. “I mean — yeah, it is, but… look.”

He reached forward, his pale finger tracing the only rune in the circle that Roman didn’t recognize. It almost looked like a bastardized version of his own royal crest; warped and changed nearly beyond recognition, sharper,  _deadlier._

“The Aliahan crest,” he said, tone dark. “It’s the queen’s symbol — t-the demon queen. She was here.”

“Does that mean… did she — did she  _take_ them?” Roman was reeling, the paper in his hand crumpling as his hand tightened into a fist. Queen Aliah, the leader of the demonic realm, the one who had started the great war, so many years ago. She had caused the death of so many humans, and the banishment of  _every_  demon. Her cruelty was unparalleled throughout all the realms; if she truly had stolen the Royal Mage and King Odin, there was no chance of getting them back.

“What do we do?” Roman whispered, setting the crumpled paper back down and tracing the ruby gemstone in the center of his father’s crown. Dried blood flaked off beneath his finger and fluttered to the table and Roman grit his teeth, his eyes stinging.  _Princes don’t get scared,_  his mind chanted, to which his body replied with a wave of terror that almost made Roman sick. “We have to… we can’t just —”

“Roman.”

In his terror and his confusion, he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching the house, hadn’t heard the door creak open — and now Joan stood before them, their expression shock and betrayal and anger and sadness all at once. Virgil growled, magic flaring, but Roman held out a hand to stop him. He met Joan’s gaze resolutely.

“Joan,” he began, tone soft as he stepped forward, “we’re not your enemies.”

“What, you expect me to fucking believe that?” Joan said. “You’ve broken enough rules to get yourself  _exiled_ , Roman. You’re friends with — with one of  _them!”_

“So what?” Roman demanded when Virgil flinched, drawing himself up to his full height.

 _“‘So what?’”_ they repeated, eyes wide. “Roman, you… do you have any idea what your father would say? And now you’ve broken into a royal official’s home! You…” They stopped. It seemed they had finally noticed the state of the room around them, the buzz of foreign magic floating discomfitingly through the air.

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a  _damn_  about what my father would say,” Roman snapped, and it felt exhilaratingly dangerous to say out loud. “He was wrong, Joan. But if you don’t calm down and help us, we may never see him again.”

He snatched the bloodied crown and held it out for Joan to see. “The demon queen took him,” he said, his voice grim, “and the Royal Mage.” He gestured to the pile of tattered fabric sitting beside the note and Joan paled.

“She took T —” They stopped, swallowing hard and running a hand through their hair. Their gaze traveled to Virgil and their eyes narrowed, their magic flaring green. “How can you still trust  _that_  one, then? One of them took your father!”

Roman bristled, silently wondering when he’d become to protective of the young demon. But Virgil spoke up before he could, his long fingers curling over the rose clasp of his cloak.

“There isn’t a demon alive who cares for  _her,”_  he spat. “I can’t prove that you can trust me. But right now, I’m your only hope of getting your humans back. I can take you to the demon realm.” He paused, his gaze flickering to the crown in Roman’s hands. “I can help you.”

Roman stared. Guilt bloomed in his stomach as he recalled every horrible thing he’d ever done to him, as he wondered how he could possibly be so open, so  _helpful_ , despite all the danger Roman had put him in. His fingers tightened around the crown and he turned to Joan, expression firm.

“I trust him,” he said, “and once, you trusted me. We can save them, Joan. We just need your help.”

He met Joan’s gaze with pleading eyes. They were the second most powerful mage in all of Gaepried; with them on their side, they might actually have a chance. Roman thought back to his days spent with Joan, to every training session and sparring match, to every moment of friendship, and held out his open hand. “Please.”

Joan hesitated. Their gaze flickered from the crown to the note to Virgil, who watched with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Finally, they sighed, shaking their head as they took Roman’s hand.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” they asked as Roman’s face broke out in a wide grin.

“It’s Roman we’re talking about, of course you’re gonna regret it,” Virgil said with a dry chuckle. Roman rolled his eyes, shoving the crown into his bag and offering Virgil the note.

“Oh hush, you negative nancies. Everything will be just fine!” He could feel the magical energy thrumming through Virgil as the demon took his hand, and his heart began to race. He watched as Virgil traced the runic circle, his eyes slipping shut, before letting the note flutter to the floor and offering Joan his hand.

We’ll find you, he promised silently, the bloody crown in his bag weighing on him like a bag of bricks. I’ll make you proud.

“Okay, just… stand still. Don’t let go of me no matter what.” Virgil took one last look around the destroyed home and let out a breath, his hold on Roman’s hand tightening. His eyes began to glow as he murmured a lilting, foreign incantation, his magic flowing across his skin in veins of violet. His power buzzed through the air, making the hair on the back of Roman’s next stand, and his light grew brighter and brighter, until…

Until, in a flash of white lightning, the three vanished.


	10. Chapter Ten

It was like the Bloodbond but worse, yanking and tugging at him from all different angles as the world tilted into a mess of blurred colors and deafening noises. Virgil’s grip on his hand became vice-like as the chaos threatened to tear them apart, Roman’s scream lost to the cacophony.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the feeling vanished and Roman stumbled to his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The ground beneath him was rough, and the air around him hung heavy with humidity, carrying the thick smell of smoke. He heard Joan cursing and breathed a sigh of relief, his grip on Virgil’s hand loosening.

“You alright there, princey?” Virgil’s hair was tousled, his cloak a tangled mess, but he was otherwise unaffected, watching the two humans with a smirk. Roman glared as he tried (and failed) to get to his feet, the world swaying around him.

“You could’ve — c-could’ve warned us that it was that  _horrible!”_  Roman snapped, voice shaking. Virgil shrugged, reaching up to fix his hair.

“Sorry. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Y’know, for someone who  _promised_  to help us, you’re not being very helpful,” Joan complained as they stood, their face pale.

“I got you here, didn’t I?” Virgil said, gesturing to the world around them, and Roman bit back a gasp as his vision cleared. He’d heard stories of the demon realm, of its nightmarish landscape, but this… this was  _terrifying._

The sky above them was a deep, rusty, bloody red. There was no sun in sight; instead, the ground itself seemed to radiate heat, as though they were standing atop the sun. The air was hazy, smoky, carrying a scent of death and masking a landscape of dead fields and run-down towns surrounding a massive castle seemingly made of darkness.

They’d landed on a small hill, overlooking the grid of darkness beneath. Roman’s gaze caught on the castle, on the sharp spires and dark windows and the feeling of pure malevolence that seemed to radiate from it, and every inch of him seized up with fear, his eyes going wide. The smoke in the air was too thick, too  _much_ , and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, clamping his hand tightly over his mouth as terror flooded his system.

“Snap out of it, princey.” Virgil set a hand on his shoulder, holding tightly, and he reached over to bracingly grab Joan’s arm too. “Breathe. This hellhole’s magic is enough to make you go insane with fear, you need to stop focusing on it and breathe.”

Virgil kept talking, and his voice slowly but surely dragged Roman from the pit of terror he’d fallen into. He fought to regain control of his breathing, tearing his gaze away from the castle and putting all his focus onto Virgil’s voice.

“You good?” Virgil asked once Roman’s breathing had evened out.

“Just  _peachy,”_  Roman said as Joan nodded, forcing himself to ignore the smoky fear hanging in the air. Virgil ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh.

“We’ve gotta move quickly. Follow me.” He started down the hill, and Roman and Joan exchanged a look before jogging after him, towards the tiny group of broken-down houses at the bottom. There was no one else in sight, not a single living soul, and silence reigned over the world as Virgil approached the smallest house, a wooden shack so run-down that Roman was surprised it was even still standing.

The inside was empty and dark, red light filtering in through the cracks in the walls and illuminating the dusty, dirt-covered floor. Virgil crouched down and swept away the dirt, revealing the twisted rune for hidden burned into the wood.

“What does this have to do with rescuing the king?” Joan asked, breaking the silence and making them both jump. Virgil glared, the sharp angles of his face enhanced by the dark red glow from outside.

“Do you think the three of us can face Queen Aliah on our own?”

“Yes,” Roman began.

 _“No,”_  Virgil cut him off swiftly, turning back to the rune. “We’ll need help, and this is how to get it.” He placed his hand atop it, fingers splayed across the wood, and it began to softly glow, the floor melting away to reveal a ladder leading into the darkness below.

Joan stopped Roman as Virgil started down the hole, their expression dark and distrustful. “Are you sure about this?” they asked, their voice hushed. Roman glanced at the hole, face softening.

“No,” he said truthfully, “but we have to save the Royal Mage and my father. This… could be our only chance at help. Besides, I trust V — Anxiety.”

Joan hesitated. “...then lead the way, your highness,” they said finally.

The ladder brought them deep underground, into darkness so thick that Roman couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. His and Joan’s fire combined could barely do more than illuminate a few feet in front of them. They met up with Virgil at the bottom, and he led them down a narrow side-tunnel.

The tunnel came to an end quickly, leading into an open room lit by weakly flickering torches. A few old, mismatched tables and chairs were scattered around the room, most housing piles of food or bandages. Virgil stepped into the room and smiled.

“Here we a —  _ah!”_ he yelped as a blur of brown and white rushed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Roman rushed forward, quickly summoning his sword to fend off whatever had dared to attack them.

“Leave him al…” He trailed off mid-sentence when he realized that Virgil was laughing, his smile happier than Roman had ever seen before as he reached down to wrap his arms around the blur.

“Anx! Girl, we  _missed_  you!” The blur pulled away from Virgil, grinning with razor-sharp teeth. His face was tan, his hair a mess of soft brown and his eyes glowing orange-brown in the firelight. His wings were warm brown, matching the brown freckles littered across his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes as he fixed his lopsided cloak. “... I missed you too, Sleep.”

“Sleep?” Joan stepped further into the room, regarding the rough stone walls and the small piles of food with one eyebrow raised. The other demon — Sleep — finally took notice of them and froze, eyes narrowing.

“Anxiety, tell me you did not bring humans into our lair,” he said, tone laced with disbelief.

“Okay. I didn’t bring humans into our lair.” Anxiety rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to explain, shooting a glance at Roman, but a small voice cut him off.

“Did someone say Anx? Is he back?” A smaller demon lingered in the entrance of another tunnel, their eyes widening as they caught sight of the group. Sleep held out his arm, shaking his head.

“Stay back, Talyn, he brought humans,” Sleep snarled, wings curling defensively. “Why would you bring them here?” Are you insane?”

“Because we need your help, idiot. The Royal Asshole stole their king, and we need to get him back. Okay?” Virgil met Sleep’s angry glare with a stubborn one of his own. “I’d never intentionally bring any of them here without a good reason, Sleep, you know that.”

“Besides, you can trust us! I promise.” Roman had managed to charm all the hatred right out of one demon, who’s to say he couldn’t manage another? He smiled, waving kindly at the smaller demon, who watched him warily.

“Human promises don’t mean anything to me,” Sleep said with a roll of his eyes. “You could’ve at least warned us you were bringing company, girl. I coulda fixed the place up a bit.”

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, because you would’ve chosen cleaning for humans over sleeping. Makes sense.”

“So… what is this place?” Joan asked, their gaze caught on the smaller demon. Roman relaxed his grip on his sword, allowing it to disappear in a shower of sparks.

There was a map lying across one of the tables, stabbed through with pins and covered in scribbled lines leading towards the castle in the center. A battle plan, maybe? He peered at it closer.

“Rebellion central,” Virgil said with a tense shrug. “It’s where we hide from the queen and where  _these_  idiots try to plan to take her down.”

“As if you’re not one of ‘these idiots,’” Talyn spoke up, cautiously making their way further into the room. Their short, curly hair seemed to shimmer beneath the lights, changing from deep blue to soft pink and back against.

“I only stayed because you guys have food.” Virgil reached over to ruffle Talyn’s hair, making them groan in annoyance. But his fond smile slipped from his face quickly, and he crossed his arms. “We need to get inside the castle,” he said, suddenly all business.

“The queen took my father,” Roman said, “and the Royal Mage of Gaepried. We need to get them back.”

“We need your help.” Joan still looked uncomfortable, surrounded by those they’d been trained to hate, but they spoke earnestly, imploringly.

“So what you’re saying is, you all have a death wish.” Sleep looked at them as though they’d each grown extra head, eyes flashing with disbelief behind the darkness of his glasses. “Do you have any idea how dangerous her castle is? How powerful she is? Girl, tell me you’re joking.”

“You’ll all die,” Talyn added, face grim. “If she had your friends, they’re probably already dead. There’s no point going after them.”

“We have to try.” Roman’s heart pounded in his chest. They  _couldn’t_  be dead. He wouldn’t allow it.

“You _are_ serious, oh my  _god,”_  Sleep cried.

“Don’t worry, Sleep, you won’t have to interrupt your precious naptime for us. We just need your maps of the castle. We’ve gotta get inside,” Virgil said. A moment later, his face softened. “I don’t want either of you risking your lives for us.”

“Bold of you to assume we’d let you go alone.” Talyn made their way to a bookshelf in the back of the room, searching the dusty shelves. They stood on the tips of their toes and pulled a rolled-up map from the top shelf, and threw it at Virgil. “What’s the plan, Anx?”

“Bold of  _you_  to assume we have a plan,” Virgil muttered, dropping to sit cross-legged as he spread the map across the floor. Roman studied the twisting hallways and tunnels scattered across the castle’s map as he sat beside Virgil, his eyebrows furrowing.

Joan sat opposite Roman, right beside Talyn, and after a moment’s hesitated, they offered them their hand. “I’m Joan.”

The demon regarded him for a moment, their eyebrow quirking up. “Talyn,” they said, offering a hesitant smile.

Sleep leaned over the map, jabbing his finger onto a room in the depths of the castle. “The dungeons,” he said. “If your missing humans are anywhere, they’re going to be there.”

Roman listened intently as Sleep explained the layout of the castle, ignoring the fear lingering in the corners of his mind as he did his best to memorize the twisting halls of Queen Aliah’s castle. His father, the Royal Mage… they were in there, somewhere, and he’d be  _damned_  if he wasn’t going to save them.

Slowly but surely, they came up with a plan. They’d leave the next morning, just before daybreak, take out any guards they came across, and sneak into the dungeons. They’d sneak King Odin and the Royal Mage out before Queen Aliah had even woken up.

There were too many ways that it could go wrong to count, as Virgil had kindly pointed out, and Roman found that he couldn’t shake the tendrils of fear seeping deeply into his mind as he tried to fall asleep that night.  _Princes don’t get scared,_ he told himself as he stared through the darkness, that hazy feeling of terror filling his lungs once more.  _Princes don’t get scared._

“You okay?”

He yelped at the sudden noise, slapping a hand over his mouth as his cry echoed through the lair. He heard a familiar snicker and growled, placing a hand over his chest to calm his panicked heart. Virgil’s silhouette watched him through the darkness, his wings wrapped tightly around himself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered.

“I’m not sure that I believe you,” Roman grumbled, letting out a shaky breath.

“I mean, you getting scared for no reason is pretty funny,” Virgil said, voice shaking with hushed laughter. Roman rolled his eyes, pulling himself into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around his knees. Silence fell over the room.

“Seriously, though.” Virgil shifted, his voice hushed and uncertain. “Are you… okay? I-I mean this… this place is bad enough for a demon, and you’re going through a-a lot, and I just —”

“Why, Virgil, it almost sounds as though you care about me!” Roman found himself smiling despite the fear shrouding his mind. Virgil growled.

“I don’t, I promise. You’re still an asshole.” Roman could practically feel his glare through the darkness. “Excuse me for trying to be nice.”

“No! No, I appreciate it, really!” Roman spluttered.

“Y-Yeah?” Virgil coughed. “Well… good. Cause this is a one-time thing.” A moment passed in silence. “Well?  _Are_  you okay?”

 _Princes don’t get scared,_ his mind yelled as it clogged the truth in his throat and tried to force him to say yes. He hesitated, hugging his knees to his chest. “...No,” he said finally, so softly that he wasn’t even sure Virgil heard him.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Am I really that bad at hiding it?” Roman asked with a weak, humorless chuckle. Virgil snorted.

“You’re a terrible actor,” he replied, laughing as Roman feigned offense. “Look, I’m not good at comforting or any sappy shit like that and this is a really dangerous thing that we’re doing and there’s… a lot of ways this could go wrong —”

“Is this your idea of being helpful?” Roman quipped.

“ — but,” Virgil continued, ignoring Roman’s interruption, “we’ve done a lot of really dangerous things before, right? I-I mean — I’m gonna sound like a huge hypocrite for saying this, but… don’t kill yourself worrying just yet. You’re like… the biggest idiot in all the realms and yet you still always manage to come out on top, so…”

He trailed off, his awkward attempt at comfort hanging in the air between them. Roman hesitated, feeling heat rush to his cheeks as he struggled to find the right words to respond. Anxiety was gruff and unsure, but he was being genuinely nice, and it sent a flutter through Roman’s heart.

“I… thank you,” Roman said softly, finding that the fear clouding his mind was fading. “You’re right, of course, I-I am Prince Roman! I  _never_  lose!”

“Well now that’s just a blatant lie,” Virgil said with a playful snort.

“Hey, what happened to comforting me?” Virgil’s quiet, giggling laughter was infectious, and Roman found himself laughing too, his hand clamped over his mouth to keep from waking the others. And when the laughter faded, a comfortable, friendly quiet took its place. “And… the same goes for you, alright? I promised I’d get you out of this alive, and I don’t intend to break that promise. So there’s no need for you to worry.”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil yawned widely, sliding down to lie beside Roman. Roman stretched out across the floor, shifting to watch the demon, and their eyes met through the darkness. They lingered in each other’s gazes, silent, curious. “Goodnight, princey,” Virgil said silently, his eyes fluttering shut.

Roman hesitated. He knew it wasn’t fear making his heart thud in his chest, making blood rush to his face — but the alternative was far too  _confusing_  to dwell on. He regarded the demon through the darkness for a moment longer before his eyes slipped shut.

“Goodnight, Virgil.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

As it turned out, morning in the demon realm was no less terrifying than night. The sky appeared as blood, bright freshly-spilled crimson splattered between shadowy black clouds, and terrible heat floated through the air, filling Roman’s stomach with dread.

They’d set out well before dawn, and Roman had watched through a ceiling of dead tree branches as the rusty-red of the night sky had faded into vivid scarlet. The humid wind brought half-life to the skeleton-hand trees around them, their awful crackling filling the air around them.

Sleep and Virgil had taken the lead, talking in hushed voices, and Joan and Talyn brought up the rear, their animated discussion rising above the snapping of the bony branches. And Roman held up the middle, alone, silent, caught in his own thoughts as they approached the castle. He did his best to hold Virgil’s comforting words close, a beacon to keep the dark fear at bay, but… even he had to admit he was struggling.

He crossed his arms tightly, striding along with all the confidence he knew he didn’t have. They were nearly to the castle, nearly to his father; he couldn’t afford to be scared, couldn’t afford even a moment’s hesitation. The sky above, smeared with blood, brought memories of old nightmares creeping into his thoughts and sent freezing-cold fear shooting through his lungs.

_“You will never make me proud.”_

He tensed, gritting his teeth. The nightmare flashed through his mind, like a broken record on endless repeat — a hooded prisoner bound in chains, a silver dagger, a pair of pleading purple eyes and a splash of sickening scarlet — and he winced, digging his fingernails into his forearm to distract himself from his thoughts.

His father was trapped somewhere in that castle, and of course they had to save him, but… would it even make a difference? The moment Odin learned that they were working with demons, even in order to save his life, he’d  _snap._  Roman and Joan would be banished for sure, left for dead out in the wilderness surrounding Gaepried.

Roman stared ahead, his eyes caught on Virgil, and panic buzzed within him. What would happen to Virgil? Would he be banished too, trapped in the demon realm once more? Or would Roman’s nightmare come to life?

This was his fault.  _This was his fault._  He should have listened to Logan, he never should have cast that spell, he put innocent people in danger and it’s his fault,  _all his fault —_

“We’re here.”

Sleep’s voice broke him out of his spiral of thoughts and he jumped, his eyes growing wide at the castle before them. Dread weighed heavily on the group, and Roman battled to breathe normally against the tidal wave of fear washing over him. Talyn had explained the castle’s magic the night before; Queen Aliah had enchanted it to fill all who approached with enough terror to kill them, so long as they gave into it.

As though he’d ever give into his fear. He steeled himself, forcing his breathing to steady, that familiar mantra running through his mind. _Princes don’t get scared. Princes don’t get scared._

“We have to move quickly,” Virgil said, voice low. “We get in, we grab the humans, we get out. If the Royal Asshole finds us, it’s all over.” He swept his gaze over their small team, raising an eyebrow. “And if any of you die, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Talyn and Joan repeated in unison, and Roman found himself smiling despite himself. For all Joan had berated him for befriending a demon, they’d certainly warmed up to Talyn _pretty_  quickly. He’d have to tease them about it later.

If there was a later.

He shook his head forcefully, the smile slipping from his face. No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. There would be a later — he’d make sure of it.

“You ready, princey?” Suddenly Virgil was standing before him, shifting his wings to prepare to fly.  _This is it,_  Roman thought as he nodded, his gaze caught on their target, a window high above. He ran the plan through his head again and again as Virgil wrapped his arms around Roman’s torso.

With a sound like a whip cracking through the air, Virgil thrust his wings down and sent them shooting skywards. Roman couldn’t help the jolt of excitement as the ground vanished from beneath his feet, wind rushing through his hair as they rose higher and higher.

They landed on the windowsill and went tumbling in together, landing in a heap on the cold stone floor. Roman let out a breathless sigh as he got to his feet, dizzyingly lightheaded. Talyn and Joan landed a moment later and stumbled away from each other, and finally, Sleep arrived, his brown-leather wings shining red in the crimson light.

No one spoke. Sleep took the lead, the map clutched tightly in his clawed hands, and they marched down the stairs like soldiers marching into battle, the world around them growing colder and darker with every step. The castle was deathly silent and chillingly empty, not a guard in sight as they made their way down to the dungeons. The silence was deafening, maddening, and yet they could only hope that it wouldn’t be broken, that it would persist long enough to save King Odin and the Royal Mage and get out.

In all his adventures, Roman had never seen a room as terrible as the demon queen’s dungeons, and his stomach turned simply to look at it. It was small and cramped, hidden deep below the ground, and though darkness veiled the true hideous extent of the room, Roman could still make out the splatters of blood and the rusted chains hanging from the walls. The room seemed to echo with a lengthy past of torture, grating on Roman’s ears. The air hung heavy with death.

“Who’s there?” a sudden voice said, making them all jump. “Show yourselves immediately!”

Roman knew that voice. He broke away from the group in an instant, relief and fear crashing down on him all at once. “Father?” he asked, snapping his fingers to light a flame in his palm.

 _“Roman?”_ The fire illuminated his father, the bruises littered across his face and his bare arms, and Roman breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was injured, but he was  _alive._ “Roman, what are you —  _demons.”_

With a savage snarl, King Odin grabbed Roman’s shoulder and yanked him away from his team, sending him tumbling backward, his back slamming painfully into the wall behind them. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice a furiously cruel growl. “I’ll take them down.”

 _“No!”_ Roman cried, as Joan pushed their way through the group and faced down King Odin’s wrath. His father blinked in shock.

“No,” Roman said again, quieter this time. He got back to his feet and stood before his father, his chin raised and his eyes flashing with defiance. King Odin looked from Joan to Roman, standing as a shield before the three demons; and though Roman had feared his father’s reaction since the moment he’d met Virgil, now he felt only anger as his father’s face hardened, only a wall of defiance that he wouldn’t let crumble.

“Wh — what is this?” King Odin yelled. “Are you  _working_  with  _them?”_

“You’re wrong about them.” Roman kept his voice even, though anger snapped within, a fire that refused to die down. He shared a moment’s look with Virgil and knew he was right. “They’re not all bad.”

“Have I taught you nothing?” his father bellowed, his voice echoing around the room. “I don’t know what has caused this — this betrayal, but to bring one of my most powerful allies into it too?” He swept his glare across Joan. “I will deal with you both later. Stand. Aside.”

“With  _all_  due respect, your  _majesty,”_  Joan began, and Roman knew at that moment that he had been a terrible influence, because they were  _sassing_  the king,  _“they_  are the ones who got us here to rescue you. Roman’s right, they’re —”

Footsteps. Roman froze at the sound, his eyes growing wide, and Joan’s sentence cut off with a strangled gasp. Soft, quiet footsteps, growing louder with every moment and sealing their fate.

“We have to get out of here,” Virgil hissed. “I don’t care what the hell you think of us, human, if we don’t all leave right now, we’ll die.” He met King Odin’s glare, eyes narrowed, and then broke away to glance around the dungeon. “Where’s the other human?”

Freezing cold fear shot through Roman’s lungs as he realized: the Royal Mage was nowhere in sight. The footsteps were growing closer and there were no other exits, no ways to escape. He summoned his sword without a second thought, his fingers tightening around the hilt.

“Where is Thomas?” Joan asked, their voice low.

“We have to go,” Virgil whispered, glancing at the staircase. “Now.”

“Fuck that! I’m not leaving without him!” Joan’s eyes flashed green as their magic flared. “I didn’t come all this way to leave him behind!”

“Joan, we have to —

“Well, well, well…”

The sudden voice made them all jump, and Roman realized with a crushing wave of fear that they were too late, that they were trapped.

“The human is right,” Queen Aliah of the demons said, regarding them all with a cruel glint in her eyes. “Why leave now, when you’re  _so close_  to what you came for?”

In a flash of light, a figure appeared in her arms, unconscious and limp, the strands of purple-brown hair hanging in his face matted with blood. Joan cried out and darted forward and Roman grabbed them and yanked them back, holding his sword aloft towards the demon queen.

“Give him back.  _Now,”_  he commanded. “He does not belong to you.”

“Ooh, I’m  _so scared.”_  Amused sarcasm flashed through the queen’s eyes, her dark expression almost… _familiar._ “Honestly, I’m surprised at all of you. You really didn’t realize this was a trap? You all risked your lives for human  _scum_  like them?”

Joan wrenched out of Roman’s grip and thrust their hands forward, their magic exploding in a blinding blast of glowing runes. Roman stumbled backward from the sheer force of the spell; but Queen Aliah barely flinched, holding up a clawed hand and stopping the spell in its tracks.

“Cute,” she said, and with a wave of her hand the spell was reversed, barrelling powerfully back towards them. Roman backpedaled, raising his hands to summon a shield even though he knew there wasn’t enough time, knew he couldn’t save them all. The sickly green light filled his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself —

_“No!”_

A blast of purple overtook the green and the spell slammed into a massive magical shield, held up by a figure with his arms spread wide. The spell shattered the moment it hit and Virgil stumbled and fell to his knees, his shield flickering away. Roman could  _feel_  the strain on Virgil’s magic through the Bloodbond, and yet he still didn’t believe what he had just seen. A shield that size, taking on a spell that powerful… it shouldn’t have been possible. Unless…

“You’re not touching them,” he said between panting breaths, his voice echoing around the room, dark and double-layered. He got back to his feet and the leftover magic from the shield swirled around him, darting towards the queen in the blink of an eye.

In her haste to block them, Aliah lost her grip on the Royal Mage, and Joan darted forward to grab him without a moment’s hesitation. Roman’s fire joined Virgil’s volley of bullets and the queen lifted a shield with a cry of rage, her magic a dark, poisonous black.

For a moment, Roman’s heart soared with his magic, standing tall beside Virgil as the two launched their attack, and for a moment, it almost seemed as though the queen was faltering, her shield wavering beneath the volley of magic. For a moment, it seemed as though they could  _win._

But the moment passed and the queen shoved her shield forward with a cry of  _“enough!”_ A wave of power pulsed out from where she stood and their magic vanished as they were sent flying backward, slamming into the wall behind them.

Roman’s vision swam with dark spots as he collapsed to the ground. He could hear Joan groaning to his right, fighting unconsciousness, and fought against the pain flooding his body, trying desperately to stand.

Only one had been left standing. His shield flickered weakly as he trembled where he stood, his eyes narrowed against the blast. Roman grit his teeth and forced the pain from his body, pushing himself up.

“Vir — Virgil.” His friends were downed, his father lying unconscious against the wall; but he’d be damned if he let himself fall too. His heart pounded in his chest as he gathered his magic.

“Virgil…”

Roman froze, realizing his mistake far too late as the queen whispered the demon’s true name, tilting her head to the side as she tested its lilt on her tongue. She stepped forward, her eyebrows furrowing as she studied Virgil, who glared back defiantly, his eyes flaring with magic.

“And to think I was going to kill you,” she said. “To think I thought you were just a tool to bring them to me.” She gestured at King Odin and the unconscious rebel demons. “Virgil…”

“Get away from him. Now.” Roman strode forward and shoved his sword up against her throat, pushing Virgil behind him. A smirk pulled at the corners of the queen’s lips, and the expression in her eyes seemed too familiar. Too much like…

No.  _No._ He pressed the tip of his blade into her neck, drawing blood so dark it looked like oil. The black sheen of her hair, the curl of her lips, even the freckles across the bridge of her nose; each was a clue leading to a horrifying conclusion, one Roman couldn’t afford to dwell on.

“I am prince Roman of Gaepried,” he said, injecting as much confidence, as much  _power_  as he could into his voice. “You hold no power over me. You will let my friends and I leave, or I will kill you.”

“Roman…” Virgil’s voice behind him was a stark reminder of what he was fighting for, what he’d promised to protect, and he lifted his chin and swelled his chest, his sword never wavering. The queen may have been powerful, but he was prince Roman,  _damnit,_  and he  _wasn’t_  going to lose.

“How very wrong you are.” The queen was unfazed by the sword held at her throat, the beads of jet-black blood dripping down her neck. Roman barely had time to react before she hissed a foreign incantation and a magic circle opened at his feet, glowing with searing hot runes. He cried out as his sword vanished, as his magic was drained away in the blink of an eye, falling to his knees.

It was _torture_  — his magic ripped from him, that internal fire dying out in an instant, bringing him to the very brink of death. He could just barely hear Virgil cry his name through the blood rushing in his ears, through the scream of the spell, and pain exploded across his torso as the queen kicked him aside before Virgil could get to him.

His vision swam. He watched through a layer of static as the queen stepped towards Virgil, as Virgil clutched his own stomach and cursed as his magic spluttered and died before he could attack, as the Bloodbond sealed their fate as quickly as it had sealed them together.

“Get  _away!”_  Virgil growled savagely, standing as tall as he could through the mirrored pain in his stomach. But the queen ignored him and continued forward, her head tilted gently to one side as she regarded him; and Roman only wished he could stand and slice that horrible smile right off her face, that he could prevent the attack he knew was coming.

But the queen didn’t attack. Virgil jerked backward as she reached out, as though to stroke him, her expression unreadable. “Don’t  _touch me!”_  Virgil yelled. “You — you  _monster!”_

“Monster?” the queen echoed. She almost looked amused. She set her finger beneath Virgil’s chin and lifted his head, studying him. “No. No, I’m not a monster.”

Virgil stiffened under her touch, his face going pale as their eyes met, and Roman could see through the static muffling his thoughts that Virgil knew, too, that he’d come to the same horrible conclusion that Roman had, that any moment now, his world would be shattered.

The queen smiled.

“I’m your mother.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

_“Shut up.”_ Virgil recoiled from her touch as though he’d been burned, his face a mask of broken hatred. “Shut the  _hell up._  You’re not.”

She smiled as he took shaking steps back. “You’re a murderer. You’re an asshole and a  _killer and —”_

“And a demon.” Her tone was light, gentle. “It is what we do, Virgil. It’s our way.”

“It’s  _your_  way!” he snarled.

“I am the Queen. My way is  _everyone’s_  way.”

“No —”

“And I am your mother. My way is  _your_  way.”

 _“No!”_   Roman felt the fire within him ignite as suddenly as it had disappeared as Virgil’s magic flared to life, a massive flash of blinding amethyst. The flames consumed him, surrounded him, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

“‘No?’” the queen echoed. “I… I see. The rebels and that  _human_  have corrupted you, then.” She chuckled, dragging her gaze over Roman’s still form. “No matter, dear, I will erase their influence on you. You’ll see reason once they’re gone.”

Roman’s strength was returning, his flame burning as brightly as Virgil’s magic. But still, he stayed silent and unmoving as the queen approached, as she wrapped her long fingers around his throat and lifted him with ease, freezing Virgil in place with a whisper of his true name.

 _“No!_  Let go of him!” Virgil’s magic was blinding as he fought against the queen's restraints, but the power of his true name was too much for him to break through. His face was desperate, tears pooling in his eyes. “Roman! Wake up!  _Roman!”_

Roman forced himself to stay limp in Aliah’s grip, his eyes half-lidded and his head lolling to the side. Her grip around his throat tightened and he did his best not to choke beneath the pressure.

 _“Stop!”_  Roman considered himself a good actor, but god, the pain in Virgil’s voice was almost enough to make him break entirely. “Stop, please, I’ll — I’ll listen to you, I’ll be your son, I’ll do whatever, just  _don’t —”_

“This is for your own good, Virgil.” The queen regarded him coldly, cutting him off without a second thought. “I left you once to rot among the influence of humans, but now… I see you. I see your  _power._  You are a son worthy of my throne.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now shut up and let me kill him.”

In one swift movement, Roman twisted around and slammed his foot into her stomach, wrenching out of her grip and sending her stumbling backward with a shrill cry of pain. “Ha! That’s for kicking me before!” he yelled triumphantly, beaming.

“You were  _faking_  it?” Virgil lurched forward the moment the queen’s focus was broken, his face flooded with hope and disbelief and desperation all in one. Roman grinned, flexing his fingers to bring his sword back.

“I’m not as ‘terrible’ of an actor as you thought, Virgil,” he said with a laugh. “In other words: uh,  _duh.”_

Queen Aliah shoved herself back to her feet with a growl, her eyes glowing bright, toxic purple. Roman glanced at their unconscious team, and then his eyes met Virgil’s. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

This was it.

The queen hissed an incantation and Hellfire swirled around her outstretched hands, filling the room with unbreathable smoke and unbearable heat. Roman lifted his sword; Virgil summoned a shield.

_This was it._

Purple and red clashed, glowing, blinding, a tornado of runes and spells and suffocating smoke, and Roman tightened his hold on his sword and kept going, kept  _fighting._ No matter what, he refused to back down.

_**This was it.** _

And the queen, for all her cruelty, for all her power, was falling — for she had created an heir equal in power to her and then angered him, given him a reason to  _destroy,_  destroy and never look back. Spells raced through the air, magic seeping throughout the room, and Roman’s body ached with the overuse, but still, he kept going, kept  _fighting._ This was it, and he couldn’t give up now.

“Virgil,  _enough!”_  Runic circles flared to life around the queen’s hands, hasty protective spells. “I am your _mother!”_

 _“I don’t give a shit!”_  Roman was nearly blown back from the sheer power of the two demons’ magic, barely able to keep his footing as Virgil spread his wings and held out his hand, his palm glowing with lambent magic. Roman took his other hand and held tight, and magic swirled before them, a tornado of purple and pink and red, of magical light and smoke. Virgil’s incantation was so quick, so gutturally deep that Roman almost didn’t understand it. The light from his eyes was blinding.

The queen’s eyes narrowed, and her voice joined the mix, a slow and lilting spell that brought freezing cold seeping into the room, a spell that Roman recognized with a cry of shock.

A massacre spell. She was going to kill them  _all._

Virgil never faltered, never hesitated — and mother and son stood tall against each other, their magic mixing and colliding with all the power they could muster. He tightened his grip around Roman’s hand and drew his other hand to his chest, whispering the final part of the spell.

This was it.

_“Ego eieci te!”_

Together, Roman and Virgil thrust their hands forward and the magic burst forth, colliding with the queen’s spell with a noise like a thousand screams. The force threw the queen backward, her shrill scream echoing through the dungeon, and as the smoke cleared, Roman finally recognized the spell Virgil had cast.

A  _banishment_ spell. It was the equal opposite of the spell that had gotten them into this mess in the first place; a dangerous, powerful spell meant to send the victim to the farthest realm possible, the  _under-realm._

“Virgil!” The queen braced herself against the wall as a portal grew beneath her, searing twisted runes into the floor. “You can’t do this!”

Virgil stepped forward, his face darkening. “You’ve hurt so many people. You  _abandoned_  me, you left my father to  _die.”_

“I’m your family!” The portal was growing. Any bigger and she’d fall, and disappear forever. No one escaped the under-realm. “I’m the only family you have!”

Virgil paused. Hesitated. “You… you might be my mother,” he began, slowly. He glanced around himself, his eyes lingering on Talyn and Sleep for a moment before finally coming to rest on Roman.

There was so much held in Virgil’s gaze, an entire conversation held between eyes in the span of a single second, and the corner of his mouth twitched before he turned back to his mother.

“But you are  _not_  my family.”

And he threw his arms wide, and the portal gaped beneath the queen, sparking with magical power — and with one final scream, Queen Aliah fell inside. The spell imploded, the portal closing with a sound like metal scraping against metal.

Magic rushed through the room, filling the air; for a moment Roman couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, surrounded by the victorious buzz of a completed spell. He watched through blurry vision as Virgil stumbled and fell, and then…

Everything went dark.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“Hey!”

Warmth. Soft, gentle warmth, and calming light to match. He groaned softly, shifting.

“Wake up, idiot. We’re back.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake, and the voice above him ripped with sarcasm and exhaustion and a dryness all its own, the accent wonderfully familiar. He felt a rush of relief as he opened his eyes, blinking in the scarlet light from the sky above.

 _“Virgil,”_  he breathed.

“Ugh, finally.” Virgil rolled his eyes, a certain fondness to his smirk that made Roman’s heart flutter. “You snore like a bear, you know that?”

“Lies and slander,” Roman said in mock-offense. His body ached, his thoughts slow and sore, but still he pushed himself to his feet, tearing his eyes from Virgil for a moment to survey their surroundings.

They sat in the shadow of the queen’s castle, just beyond the front door; but it was different, somehow, nicer.  _Lighter._  He felt no rush of fear, no deluge of depressing thoughts — only a heavy tidal wave of relief. They’d made it out. They were  _okay._

_“Roman!”_

A blur of orange and white tore away from a tall man standing at the edge of the clearing and came at him faster than the fastest of spells, nearly knocking him over in their haste. Roman beamed, a relieved noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry tearing from his throat.

“If you ever fucking convince me to do something as stupid as this again, I’ll kill you.” Joan held him tightly for a moment, as though afraid he’d disappear, and then pulled away, crossing their arms. “And I mean that as lovingly as possible, you stupid f-word face.”

“Aww, come on, it all worked out in the end!” Roman said with a laugh. “And it seems  _someone_  made a new friend, too, so you got even more than we bargained for!”

He wiggled his eyebrows, nodding towards Talyn, who rolled their eyes but offered Joan a smile.

“So, uh… what were you saying about me being a traitor, again?” Roman whispered jokingly, his smile growing wider when Joan returned Talyn’s smile with a suspiciously red face.

_“Shut up.”_

Roman burst out laughing, stifling his giggles behind his hand as Joan glared, red-faced. He opened his mouth to tease more, but a sudden voice cut him off.

“... Son.”

Roman turned, looking up into the grizzled, scarred face of his father. King Odin stood tall, his face a kaleidoscope of distrust and uncertainty.

“Father,” Roman said, keeping his voice even, though his heart pounded warily in his chest. Internally, he cringed, waiting for the anger to overtake his father’s face, waiting for him to prattle on about demons and betrayal and whisk him away, away from his new friends and away from Virgil.

“What you did was incredibly reckless,” he began, his voice gruff. “You broke nearly a dozen of our kingdom’s laws. You teamed up with demons. Under normal circumstances, I would have you _exiled.”_

Roman found only cold defiance where he’d expected to find fear. “I also saved your life,” he snapped. “Have you ever considered that you might be, I don’t know, wrong?”

“Let me finish,” King Odin said harshly. Then, as a hesitant afterthought, “...please.”

Roman crossed his arms and nodded. King Odin sighed, dragging his gaze across the mismatched bunch of humans and demons before him.

“Under normal circumstances,” he repeated. “These are… not normal circumstances. You… all… saved my life. Your sentiment might hold… some truth, I suppose. You demons aren’t  _all_... as bad as I thought.”

Roman’s eyes widened. Was he… admitting he was wrong? Roman hadn’t thought that was possible. King Odin was prideful and powerful and  _never wrong._

But today, King Odin was _hesitant._  “I may be willing to… reconsider my earlier viewpoints…” he said, his voice a low, halting growl. Roman gaped, spluttering. This was the _last_  thing he had expected. “I still don’t trust  _them_  and I still don’t approve of your rescue methods, but… recent events must be taken into account.”

He faced Roman, and something new flashed through his eyes. “Roman, you… you did what you had to do to save me. You did what you knew was… right, and you stood up to me over it. You were strong, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted you to be.”

And then his father set a hand on Roman’s shoulder and offered something Roman had never seen from him before: a  _smile_.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said — and Roman, for all he prided his loquaciousness, found himself stricken speechless. His father’s words echoed through his mind.

“I — thank you.” It felt amazing, hearing his father say the words he’d longed to hear for so long, and he knew this was all he had ever wanted — but he also knew that it wasn’t all he wanted anymore. He’d faced dragon-witches and sirens and foes so dangerous it was a wonder he was still alive. He’d literally traveled to hell and back. And he’d learned things, too, things about himself and about the word, and he’d realized; he  _wanted_  his father’s praise... But he didn’t  _need_  it anymore.

Because,  _sure,_  King Odin was proud of him… but he was proud of  _himself._

He glanced at Virgil, and brought his gaze across Sleep and Talyn and Joan, as though to remind himself that they were still there, that they were okay — and then, finally, his eyes landed on a stranger, standing at the edge of the group with his arm around Joan’s shoulders. He recognized him by the patch on his sleeves, the Gaepried crest surrounded by stars.

The Royal Mage.

He stood taller than Roman, smiling despite the remnants of blood streaked across the side of his face. A mess of freckles covered his round, tan face, as though he had been splattered there by a haphazard painter, and his hair was soft and golden-brown, the tips darkened with deep purple dye. He noticed Roman’s curious gaze and, drawing his arm from around Joan, stepped forward and offered his hand.

“I, uh, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet,” he began, his voice cheerful. “I’m the Royal Mage, Thomas. It’s an honor to meet you, your highness!”

“Ah, call me Roman,” Roman said, returning the mage’s kind smile. “And you have  _no idea_  how much I have gone through just to meet you.”

“To meet… me?” he asked, and Virgil snorted at his confused expression. “Why?”

“Well…” Roman exchanged a look with Virgil. “We have a small problem that we need your help with.”

“Small?” Virgil scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”

“Hush, Sir Snark-A-Lot.” Roman rolled his eyes. “So, Thomas, have you by any chance ever heard of a Bloodbond?”

Thomas gasped and nodded, eyes wide, and the group watched with rapt attention, ready for a story that Roman was all-too-happy to tell. He prided himself on being an excellent storyteller, and this time was no different; he touted the exciting parts and glazed over the less-than-ideal ones, spinning a story so grand he almost couldn’t believe he’d live through it. The sky above melted into a golden-scarlet sunless sunset as he wove his story; and at the end of it all, silence reigned.

“Wait, so — holy shit, that’s why…” Joan broke the silence a few charged moments later, eyes wide. “I am so sorry I was ever rude to you, man,” they said, addressing Virgil with an almost-teasing lilt beneath their voice. “Speaking from experience, for you to have dealt with him for so long like that… you’re braver than any Gaepriedian soldier.”

“Hey!” Roman cried, affronted, placing a hand over his heart as though he’d been wounded.

“Ugh, _thank you._  Finally, someone agrees with me about how annoying that little shit is.” Virgil’s voice shook with laughter. “Trust me, it was absolute torture.”

“I am _right here!”_ Roman exclaimed, glaring when the two burst out laughing. But it wasn’t long before the corners of his own lips began to twitch, and he rolled his eyes as a begrudging smile spread across his face.

“Girl, you tried to cast a _half-translated_  spell. I think they’re allowed to laugh at you.” Sleep leaned against a tree and offered Roman a teasing half-smile, his voice slow and honeyed as though he’d been close to catching his namesake.

“I’m not gonna lie, that was a pretty bad idea,” Thomas added, rubbing the back of his neck. Roman huffed, crossing his arms.

“Glad to see you all  _bonding_  over this,” he grumbled. “But really, if you’re done making fun of the  _best_ person out of all of you, I think we have more important matters to discuss.”

“I agree,” his father said. “I don’t approve of how you got into this mess, but it’s imperative that you get out of it.” He paused, and then… “And, obviously, I’m the best person out of all of you. That’s just a fact.”

“Oh, so  _that’s_ where he gets it from,” Virgil muttered with a roll of his eyes as Roman gasped loudly, offended. “But yeah, I’m with princey. Let’s get this figured out.”

“Princey?” Joan echoed. “Oh my god, I’m calling you that forever now.”

“Joan,  _no —”_

“Anyway,” Thomas said insistently, cutting Roman off before he could argue. “I… I can definitely reverse that. Right now, if you want? It’s a complicated spell, but this place is filled with magic, so it shouldn’t be too hard. I just need something to write some runes with…”

“I have a pen,” Talyn offered, rummaging through their bag. Thomas smiled and began scribbling runes across his hand, instructing Joan and Sleep as they began spreading paper across the ground.

Virgil caught Roman’s eye. The look on his face was insistent, if a bit shy, and Roman pushed himself to his feet.

“We’ll, ah… we’ll be right back,” he said, and followed Virgil farther into the dead forest around them, the soft din of conversation behind them dulling to a charged silence.

“So.” Virgil stopped and leaned against a bare tree, his wings shifting behind him. “Once that human finishes the spell, you’ll finally be rid of me So, uh… this is goodbye, I guess.”

Roman blinked, a strange feeling spreading through his chest. Just a week ago, he would have given anything to hear those words, to be ‘free.’ But now? Now, the thought of saying goodbye, of never seeing him again... it  _hurt,_  in a strange, hot sort of way. Now… he didn’t  _want_  to leave.

“So I figured we should get… whatever it is we have to get out of the way… out of the way before…” He crossed his arms, the rose-shaped clasp on his borrowed cloak catching the sunset’s light and gleaming.

“Wait!” Roman said quickly, his voice almost cracking. “Why does this have to be goodbye? Won’t we… see each other again?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, regarding him strangely. “Uh-huh. Because we’re going to cast massive summoning spells every time we want to see each other, right?” He sighed. “Look. You’re going to go back to your kingdom, and I…” He looked around, eyes catching on the castle looming overhead. “I’ll go back to… mine, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“But —”

“But  _nothing,_  princey. I’m a demon, you’re a human, we can’t — it just doesn’t work like that. That’s not how things are.”

“But what if it didn’t have to be that way?” Roman exclaimed, louder than he’d intended, and Virgil startled, eyes going wide. “What if…” he said again, quieter this time, and stepped forward. Carefully, gently, he reached out and took Virgil’s hands, and though Virgil tensed at the contact, he didn’t pull away.

“Things are changing, Virgil,” he said softly. _“We_  made them change. Queen Aliah is gone! And King Odin…” He thought back to his father’s almost-apology. “He’s finally seeing the truth. Just as I did.”

They were close, very close; Roman felt as though he could get lost in the depths of Virgil’s eyes. “Say what you will, but this  _isn’t_  goodbye. I can promise you that.”

Virgil held his gaze, soft pink spreading across his pale cheeks, and let out a soft breath. Time seemed to still — for a moment, nothing else mattered, nothing else existed besides Roman and Virgil and the space between them — and then Virgil let out a groan and averted his gaze, running a hand through his hair to hide his deeply reddened face.

“Ugh, you  _sap,”_  he groaned. “We couldn’t just have a  _normal_ goodbye, _no_ , you had to go and make it  _stupid_ and  _heartfelt_  and…  _sweet…”_

Roman laughed. “What can I say? I’m good at heartfelt moments.” A grin spread across his face and he raised his eyebrows. “Careful, Virgil, any redder and I won’t be able to tell the difference between your cloak and your face.

“Shut up,” Virgil hissed, swatting at him. “I’m not blushing, asshole, it’s just — it’s hot out.”

 _“Is_  it hot out, or is it just me?” Roman asked, his voice playfully wistful as he turned to gaze dramatically off towards the last dying rays of scarlet daylight. Virgil swatted at him again, growling.

“Fine!” he said. “This isn’t goodbye. Though if you keep being so  _annoying,_  it will be, got it?”

Roman’s grin became genuine, elated, and he relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. This wasn’t goodbye. “I can’t make any promises,” he said, and Virgil rolled his eyes.”

“Anxiety! Your h — ah, Roman!” Thomas’ voice cut them off before their soft conversation could continue, and Roman’s grin shrank into a small, gentle smile.

“You ready?” he asked. Virgil shook his head, a tiny smile finding its way onto his face — and Roman realized with a jolt in his heart that this was the first time he’d ever seen Virgil truly smile, no hint of sarcasm of self-deprecation in sight. His heart skipped a beat; he was beautiful.

“Nah,” Virgil said quietly. “...let’s do it.”

The group waited for them back in the clearing, standing around a makeshift runic circle, drawn in purple ink on a pile of assorted scrap papers. As Talyn bemoaned the loss of their pen, which had tragically run out of ink, Thomas smiled and spread his arms wide.

“It’s a bit messy, but it should work,” he said. He’d scribbled runes across his hands and up his arms, and they glowed softly as they channeled his magic. “You two, stand in the center. Everyone else, stand back. This is going to be… interesting.”

“If you kill us, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life,” Virgil grumbled as he stepped into the makeshift circle, the papers crunching beneath his feet. “Even if it’s an accident.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never tried something like this before… but there’s no time like the present, right? Besides, I’m mostly sure you’ll be fine.” Thomas sat beside the circle, setting one hand in his lap, palm facing upwards, and the other atop the edge of the circle. It began to glow at his touch, colorful light swirling through the air, and little flames sparked to life around the edges.

Roman tensed as a strange feeling flooded through him, as though he’d been pumped full of electricity. The runic circle glowed brighter, sparks of magic dancing around them.

“Okay, when I finish the incantation, you two need to make some sort of contact, like… a high-five or something. Don’t stop until I say so!” Thomas glowed with his magic, shifting from red to green to purple in a dizzying rainbow as he began the spell.

Caught in a whirlwind of light and color, Roman’s eyes met Virgil’s. The outside world seemed to fade away, Thomas’ voice lost among the spell, and a silent conversation passed between the two in the span of a second — and suddenly, finally, Roman realized what the strange feeling was, what was causing his face to heat up and his heart to race, what he wanted more than  _anything_  else.

The magic around them swelled, and the electrical feeling grew. Suddenly, Roman felt the Bloodbond as he never had before: stronger, more insistent, tugging them closer. It filled every bone, every inch of his body, and they stepped towards each other as Thomas reached the end of his incantation.

 _“Now!”_  Thomas' voice sliced through the tornado around them — and they surged together, their lips meeting as the magic flared, a symphony of light and color to match the symphony swelling within them. Virgil’s fingers tangled through Roman’s hair; Roman tightened his hold around him as though afraid he’d disappear, because he  _couldn’t_  lose this, because this was  _right._  Electricity flashed in curving arcs around them, _within_  them, and they didn’t pull apart until well after the spell had ended and the tug of the Bloodbond had faded.

“Oh my —  _yas_  girl, get it!” Sleep was the first to respond, his hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered. Virgil tore his gaze from Roman and glared sharply.

 _“Shut it,_  Sleep,” he growled.

“You guys, I said like… a high-five,” Thomas said softly, eyes wide and disbelieving. Roman laughed.

“Go big or go home, am I right?”

“That was so fucking gay,” Joan said, clapping Roman on the back. Roman’s laughter grew.

“Well,  _duh._  That was sort of the point.” Roman drew his arm from around Virgil and, after a moment’s hesitation, laced their fingers together. And  _god,_  his shy smile, the way pink spread across his pale face — it made the entire journey worth it just to get to this point.

“You two are like… modern day Romeo and Juliet. It’s cute,” Talyn remarked, pushing themself back to their feet and shoving their broken pen into their bag. Virgil scoffed.

“Nah, neither of us are idiots.” He paused, glancing at Roman. “You know what, nevermind, I take it back. This idiot would die if he wasn’t always doing  _something_  stupid.”

“Hey!” Roman gasped. “I thought we just had a bonding moment!”

“So?” Virgil smirked, one eyebrow raised. “Just because we love each other or some stupid shit like that doesn’t mean I can’t still make fun of you.”

“Aw, you love me?”

“Ugh,” Virgil groaned. “Shut up.”

As Thomas gathered the papers from the ground and the group began discussing how to get the humans home, Virgil and Roman drew away, following the base of the castle until they reached the front, until they could look down at the ruined kingdom spread beneath. The  _whole_  realm was about to change. Queen Aliah was dead, which meant…

“I guess this is mine now, huh?” Virgil leaned against the castle’s wall and slid down, sitting cross-legged.

“I suppose so.” Roman sat beside him, and felt as though his heart would burst when Virgil leaned into his side. “It’s rather ironic, don’t you think? All that time spent bashing princes, only to end up one.”

“Ugh. I still stand by what I said, princey. All princes are dumb.” He snorted. “That means I’ve been self-deprecating all this time? God, what a  _mood.”_

“I’m almost offended,” Roman said, close to smiling. “Well, your highness? What are you going to do?”

“Ew. Don’t call me that.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I —  _shit,_  I don’t know. I can’t  _rule,_  I — I can barely take care of myself, let alone a whole kingdom.  _You_  should rule, you’re way better at being a stupid _prince_  than I am.”

“Hey,” Roman chided softly, taking Virgil’s hand. “You may not think so, but you are a good leader. And a powerful mage. Though I hate to admit it, I… probably would have died on this journey if it weren't for you. You’re going to do wonderfully, my prince, and I am only a… a realm away if you’re ever in need of princely advice.”

That sent a pang through his heart. He hadn’t thought about it before, but it was true: they were going to be realms apart, constantly separated. When would they see each other again?

“A realm away? Ugh. That’s stupid,” Virgil mumbled. “I can’t… do this alone. I…”

He yanked a blade of ebony grass from beneath them and twirled it around his fingers, tapping his foot anxiously against the group. He seemed to consider something, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced first at Roman and then at the kingdom spread out beneath them.

“You… you know…” he began slowly, thoughtfully. “I could… use some help. A, y-you know, prince… consort or — or something.” The corner of his mouth twitched up into a momentary smirk. “So if you know of any really stupid, annoying princes who could help me out…”

“I don’t know about really stupid, annoying princes, but… I do know of one stupidly _handsome,_  annoyingly  _wonderful_  prince who would be… happy to assist.” Their eyes met and Virgil blushed, twirling the blade of grass so quickly that it was surprising it didn’t break. “If you’ll have him, that is.”

“Yeah,” Virgil breathed, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll have him.”

He held Roman’s gaze for a moment longer and then got back to his feet and set his hands on his hips, surveying the kingdom beneath them. In the rusty-red near-darkness of night, free of the queen’s fear curse, it almost looked… beautiful.

“Well?” Virgil turned to him, looking positively radiant beneath the deep red sky. “You ready to rule this hellhole with me?”

Roman climbed to his feet, smiling as he joined Virgil on the hillside. He couldn’t imagine the changes that would follow that day; that, in the months to come, the demon realm would prosper, that under their rule, the demon and human realms would _finally_  know peace. Everything had changed.

But right now, all Roman could imagine, all he could think about was  _Virgil_ — Virgil standing before him, Virgil bathed in soft red light, Virgil who he’d spend the rest of his future with.

Virgil, who he _loved._

He took Virgil’s hands in his own, bringing their faces close. As he gazed into Virgil’s eyes, he  _knew_  — this was what he wanted. This was what he _needed._  This was  _it_  — his happily-ever-after. Standing in the shadow of their castle, overlooking their kingdom, he brought their foreheads together and let out a breath.

“I couldn’t be more ready,” he said, and brought their lips together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this project comes to an end!!! This story has been over a year in the making, and I'm just... so happy to finally see it finished.
> 
> Go check out @pattykrabbies and @vdkstar on tumblr!! They did incredible art for this story, and they're both just amazing people as well. <3
> 
> HUGE thanks to @SuperLeaf (@aliferous-ly on tumblr) for being my one-girl cheerleading squad and beta reader!!! I wouldn't have finished this if it weren't for ollie tbh,,, she's an incredibly talented author and an amazing person and i love her sm <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> ANYWAY I hope you all enjoyed!!!! <3


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